


Uninvited

by Minky-way (Cardgamesonmotorcycles)



Series: Intravenous [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, First Meetings, First Time, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Gang Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardgamesonmotorcycles/pseuds/Minky-way
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Come on in, help yourself to a beer and make yourself comfortable.' Either Sly didn't understand sarcasm, or he did and was deliberately ignoring him, he voted the latter</p><p>-------<br/>Otherwise known as: Slight scratch, or the one with all the friendship</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Mizuki replied calmly, not even turning to see his unexpected guest, too busy focusing on stirring his pan of scrambled eggs and making sure the bacon didn’t burn. He knew what he looked like anyway, he’d almost had a heart attack when he’d walked sleepily into his living room and found a random guy fast asleep on his sofa. A quick preliminary check made certain that nothing was missing and that his guest didn’t seem dangerous as he drooled onto his couch cushions. His apartment door was open and he realised with a groan that he had forgotten to lock it again, he supposed his guest must have climbed in through the window or something. But either way, he didn’t feel too threatened, he was much bigger and stronger than the other, deciding he’d rather wait for him to wake naturally than shake him and risk a punch to the face.

“Where am I?”

“My apartment,” Mizuki answered shortly, grabbing toast as it popped up, golden brown and quickly buttering it, putting it onto two plates before piling on the eggs, bacon and grilled mushrooms. “Above Black Needle, I assume you broke in.”

“Sounds about right,” the other commented casually, just staring blankly at the plate Mizuki offered as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Eat, you were drunk right? It’ll help with the hangover,” he essentially pressed the plate into the other’s hands, rolling his eyes as he wandered to the dining table in the next room, guest following a second later.

“How d’you know I was drunk?”

“Nothing was missing and you were so fast asleep you looked dead,” he remarked, pouring himself some coffee and munching on a slice of toast, regarding his unwanted guest with interest. He didn’t look particularly well looked after, probably only about sixteen or seventeen, his clothes were dirty and torn and there were dark bags under his eyes, he almost looked like he slept rough, which Mizuki supposed he could. The only feature that distinguished him from any other street trash was his hair, it fell down his back in an odd mullet style cut, shorter around his face and tumbling down in bright blue strands. It was almost pretty, or it would be if it was washed and taken care of.

“Huh, can I smoke in here?” He asked, brushing off Mizuki’s explanation and already removing a box of cigarettes and a cheap, disposable lighter with dirty fingernails.

“Only if you give me one,” he was joking, but the other just shrugged, lighting one for himself and pushing the box across the table, watching with yellow eyes as he lit up and took a long drag, first cigarette of the day always delicious. “What’s your name then, mystery break-in boy?”

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” his face was clouded with suspicion and caution as he poked at a strip of congealing bacon, eyes flicking up to the bartenders curiously as he took a bite.

“That’s fair enough, I’m Mizuki, and it’s not poisoned, by the way.” His eyebrows raised in amusement as his words were only met with a scowl, though the other still nibbled on his food almost nervously, as if it was too good to be true.

There was silence as he digested his words, hand moving in fast, almost jerky movements to pick up the slice of toast, devouring it like he hadn’t eaten in days, which his collarbones showed was more than likely. “Sly.”

He just nodded, thinking that people sure had weird names these days but shrugging it off, thinking quietly that Mizuki might not even be his real name since he’d been named by the orphanage staff after he’d been abandoned there as a baby.

“Is it your bar?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I run it and the tattoo studio. We do a pretty good trade.” He shrugged, he was incredibly proud of his little business, he had regular patrons and got plenty of new people on the weekends when people were looking for somewhere to have a relaxed drink before heading out to the more hectic clubs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”

Sly shook his head, blue hair shining in the sunlight coming through the high windows, “can’t afford to drink at actual bars.”

Mizuki narrowed his eyes, maybe he meant he just drank at home? He had to admit it was cheaper too, and some bars on Midorijima were rip-offs, but he always tried to keep his drinks at reasonable prices, otherwise he’d lose customers and therefore profit. But he was still getting a homeless vibe from him, watching with almost mild disgust as he shoveled eggs into his mouth furtively. “Do you just get your own alcohol and drink at home then?”

Sly shook his head, looking almost amused at the bartender’s innocence and barely pausing his chewing, “steal it and drink on the streets.”

Mizuki almost chuckled, amused at how easily he’d admitted to his less than legal activities, respecting his honestly even if it might be a bit stupid. “Wait, you didn’t break into the bar too did you?”

He seemed to take a moment to think about this, then shook his head slowly, munching slowly on his last piece of toast and lighting a fresh cigarette. “Don’t think so, I might next time though.”

His lips cracked further when he smirked and a tiny trail of blood ran down his chin, wiped away with a grubby sleeve, “you’re joking, right?”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, eyeing up Mizuki’s bacon until he pushed the plate over to him, eyes lighting up almost childishly as he ate the final rasher, hands over his stomach contentedly and eyes scanning the room curiously. “You obviously haven’t heard of me then.”

“Oh? You famous or something?” He asked, smirking slightly, wondering if this kid had some kind of complex or if he was the leader of some minor gang that committed petty theft and acts of meaningless vandalism. He’d run into them before and they were nearly always incredibly self-absorbed, thinking they were some kind of hero when in reality they were just pests.

“I’m the highest ranked Rhymer on the Island, Sly Blue.”

Mizuki raised his eyebrows over his coffee mug, that was actually pretty impressive, “you must have quite the fan base then.” He didn’t know much about Rhyme, but surely it paid, contests and stuff must have monetary prizes, so then why did he look like he had nothing to his name except his clothes and those cigarettes he’d presumably stolen?

“Not exactly,” he muttered almost bitterly. “I don’t have a team and most people hate me, so… Hey, you don’t Rhyme, do you?”

Mizuki couldn’t conceal the grimace that crossed his face, technology didn’t exactly elude him, but the high tech kit you needed for Rhyme was too much for him. “Nah, I prefer to do my fighting in real life.”

“Ribster,” He spoke knowingly, same look of dislike on his face. “What team?”

“Dry Juice, I’m the leader, actually.” He tried not to look smug as he spoke, but he must have failed, Sly raising an amused eyebrow at him and making a light noise of scorn through his nose.

“Ask your team about me, they can tell you _whatever_ you want,” his eyes widened as he spoke, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and standing, presumably done making small talk with this essential stranger.

“I should probably tell you not to break in again,” Mizuki remarked, but he had a feeling that may not be very effective at all.

“Probably,” Sly replied, shrugging as he pulled on his battered shoes, having presumably managed to remove them before he passed out on the strange couch. If he was hungover, it wasn’t obvious, but for someone who looked so tired it probably wouldn’t even be noticeable. “You gunna let me out or are you actually some kind of serial killer?”

“Do I look like a serial killer?” Mizuki asked, looking down at himself for the first time, black muscle vest crumpled with sleep and red sweat pants riding low on his hips.

“Does anyone?” Sly snorted, though he let Mizuki grab the keys to the outer door and the gate downstairs, which he now vaguely remembered vaulting.

“Good point,” Mizuki remarked, not bothering to defend himself, he knew Sly didn’t really think he was a serial killer, or at least he hoped he didn’t… He unlocked the door to the metal stairs, cold on his bare feet as he walked down them into the crisp morning air, shivering slightly in front of the wooden gate that separated the alley where the bar’s bins were stored from the main street. His fingers trembled slightly as he unlocked it, padlock heavy in his hand as Sly just regarded him with interest.

“Do you break into people’s houses often or…?”

“Only the one’s owned by cute bartenders,” his face was mildly amused as he spoke, voice playful and Mizuki didn’t even have time to laugh uncomfortably before Sly was stretching up on tip-toe, one hand on his cheek and kissing him. Olive eyes growing wide in surprise because _what?_ He heard Sly’s laugh from somewhere near his neck as he stepped back, presumably finding his expression of utter shock amusing. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Mizuki got one last view of blue hair fluttering in the wind, a cheeky smile sent his way and a suggestive raise of eyebrows, then he was out of sight, blending into the shadows of the alleyway opposite and leaving the tattooist there with his mouth hanging open.

* * *

 

“Hey, Tio, what can you tell me about Sly Blue?” He asked casually, or tried to, hiding the curiosity that had swirled in his brain since he’d woken up with said boy unconscious on his sofa.

His friend’s face twisted into a scowl immediately, “Sly Blue? He hasn’t been causing trouble, has he?” he sounded almost fierce, and Mizuki wondered if this had been the reason Sly had looked so amused when he told him to ask his team, he’d suggested he had a bad reputation, but it really must be bad if even Tio disliked him.

“No, nothing like that, I just… Heard someone mention him, that’s all.” He shrugged it off easily enough, hiding the twitch of his fingers behind the glass he was drying, hot and fresh out of the dishwasher.

“Hm, well he’s not someone you want to get mixed up with, he’s pretty ruthless.”

“How do you mean?” He stacked the glasses neatly on their shelf, finding it difficult listening to him talking in such vague terms, he wanted specifics, what did he do that made people hate him?

“Well, when he Rhymes he crushes people, he’s sent them to hospital before now, some of them never recovered, like he destroyed their brains or something.” Tio’s expression was honest enough and they were good enough friends that Mizuki didn’t doubt his words. “He’s ruthless on the streets too, he’ll fight anyone, he doesn’t care how badly he gets hurt. He… Well, nobody knows for sure, but that body they found last month with its throat slit, people think that was him too.”

Mizuki could still remember that, there had been an unsettled atmosphere on the Island, people had moved in groups and nobody liked being out after dark, the bar had been filled with rumors and scared whispers. But to think that Sly had done it? He was only a child, surely, barely even old enough to drink let alone to kill somebody.

“How old is he?”

“Not sure, about sixteen I think? Hey, are you sure he hasn’t done anything?” Tio’s face was curious, tilted to one side as he drained his drink, passing Mizuki the glass so he could run the last dishwasher load of the night.

“I’m certain, his hair’s blue, right?” Tio nodded, “I think I saw him once, he just looked young so I wondered. Does he not have a family or anything? Surely they wouldn’t let him go round doing stuff like that?”

But what did Mizuki know about families? He’d never had one, left as a baby on the steps of an orphanage and raised there until he was old enough to leave and lucky enough to be left some money by an elderly man who befriended him.

“Nah, I don’t think so, he lives in one of the warehouses in the North District. Even if he did have a family, I don’t think they’d want to know, I sure as hell know I wouldn’t.”

The conversation ended there, Mizuki nodding and handing Tio a damp cloth, working together to finish cleaning the bar, parting at the doorway with smiles and laughter.

* * *

 

He didn’t believe any of it, the Sly Blue Tio had described and the one he had met had been so different, he spoke of some kind of cold, sadistic maniac who went around beating the shit out of people and being generally a disgusting human. But that wasn’t the Sly Blue he had met, who had shown emotion under his initial harshness, suspicion and paranoia melting away to show an almost playful side and a smile that made the dark bags under his eyes fade away.

But maybe he was wrong, maybe that had been an act and he really was the hated person his team said he was, who did what he wanted with no concern for anyone else. He thought about him a lot, whirling around at any flash of blue he saw, almost hoping for it to be his hair, to see that orange jacket and those headphones around his slim neck.

No, he didn’t believe a word of the rumors that circled about him, because that kiss, that had been genuine, the almost shy expression in his eyes afterwards burned into his retinas.

* * *

 

So when he woke up two weeks later, pulling on some sweatpants and padding out of his room, the yellow eyes that regarded him were barely even a surprise, just raising a disbelieving eyebrow at the boy on his couch.

“Best start to the day I’ve had in a while,” Sly remarked, raising an eyebrow and deliberately ogling his chest before shifting to kneel on the sofa, face expectant. “So, breakfast?”

All he did was roll his eyes, chuckling as he gestured for him to follow him into the kitchen, because really, he couldn’t be as bad as they said. He just needed to have a word with him about breaking and entering...


	2. Chapter 2

He thought about Sly a lot that week, just in passing, turning his head at every flash of blue he saw, though it was never the shade he was searching for, wondering just how he’d managed to avoid hearing about the infamous Rhymer until now. He was surprised he’d never even bumped into him, he was on the streets pretty often, and since Sly apparently lived on them, or in a warehouse anyway, it was honestly amazing they’d never so much as seen each other.

He was almost tempted to ask Tio about it more, but he knew he’d get even more suspicious if he did, and that was the last thing he needed, if anybody found out he’d been helping Sly, it would look bad on him, so universally hated as he was. So instead he asked his other team members, managing to slip it into a rather tipsy conversation one night after closing time remarkably easy.

“I hear about some big time Rhymer the other day, Sly Blue, apparently he’s given Ruff Rabbit a run for their money.” Team wise, Ruff Rabbit were the overall boss of the Rhyme scene, beating their opponents easily every time and coming first easily in each tournament they entered, their leader was less easy to track down, apparently foreign and basically a shut in, but it wasn’t him Mizuki was interested in.

The hatred in their voices shocked him, because normally they were a perfectly reasonable bunch, that was mainly why he’d invited them to join Dry Juice in the first place, but at the mention of Sly Blue’s name they spewed acidic bile so foul it almost made him cringe. How Sly, only aged sixteen, dealt with this, he didn’t know, but he was certain he couldn’t deserve the half of it. They were talking about petty things, thefts and verbal abuses, the occasional fistfight that got out of hand where weapons were pulled, but none of that was uncommon on Midorijima, so why did he get so much flak for it when others didn’t?

“How’s he make money then? In Rhyme?”

Riku scoffed, lowering his empty pint glass and sharing a knowing look with the others, shaking his head and usually calm face twisted in disgust. “Nah, the only way to do that is to be in a team, and nobody wants him, there’s no way anybody’d sponsor him either, not with his attitude, nah, he’s got other ways.”

Mizuki still didn’t get it, feeling significantly stupid since everybody else seemed to know what he was talking about, shaking his head to show his confusion until Masao, the soberest of the bunch, spoke up. “He sells himself, does whatever you want for cash, cigarettes, drugs or alcohol,” he shrugged, almost as if to say that it was horrible, but it was the unfortunate truth.

“But he’s what, sixteen at most? Do women seriously do that?” he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it, Midorijima might be a less than pleasant place to live sometimes, but surely nobody would pay such a young boy for sexual acts, it made his stomach churn to imagine it. But then, with the way Sly had been, he could see how people might be convinced into thinking that it was actually okay, he had a way of acting older than he really was, and it was horribly good acting.

“Not women,” they exchanged laughs more, and Mizuki felt increasingly left out, almost like they were unintentionally mocking him by not just divulging all they knew like he wanted, but he supposed they were pretty drunk, so he should probably let them off.

“All kinda guys go to him, I bet most of them aren’t even gay. He’s cheap, subtle, and accordin’ to a cousin of mine, he’s damn good too,” Tetsuya spoke up now, who this cousin was, Mizuki didn’t know, he just hoped to god he wasn’t using a fictional cousin to cover for himself.

“None of you guys have though, right?” He asked, and he was shocked to hear how stern his voice was, already judging harshly anybody who might have done something so low, so disgusting. It was strange to him, that his guys hated Sly, rather than the people who used him so degradingly, but he supposed that the way he acted implied he encouraged it, so maybe they just had him confused, twisting him into the enemy in their minds to lessen their guilt.

The combined noises of disgust and their immediate need to clear themselves of the accusation was reassuring enough, though Mizuki wasn’t sure what he would do if he knew one of them had used Sly like that. He had the horrible feeling he’d be forced to pretend he wasn’t bothered, if he threw them out for it, it would cause dissent within his team, and he wouldn’t lose them over something like that, as much as it made him feel sick.

* * *

 

He found himself thinking about him before he went to bed, wondering where he was, in the warehouse he supposedly lived in, way in the North District, where drug dealers ran the streets and more fights happened than anywhere else? He wondered if he was safe, warm, if he’d eaten that day or if he was going to sleep with hunger gnawing his stomach and empty pockets. But then maybe he was wandering the streets, lingering on corners until some guy came up and they both disappeared to an alley, returning with a wad full of notes and shaking legs. Maybe he tried to buy food but nobody trusted him enough, so he had to steal it, maybe he’d gotten caught, beaten and left to bleed alone with everyone who passed glaring and spitting on him. They might not see the teenager he was, but Mizuki did, and he didn’t like it, drifting into a troubled sleep.

* * *

 

So when he woke up the next morning with him in his apartment again and practically undressing him with his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not.

* * *

 

“Were you even drinking last night?” Mizuki asked, watching Sly sip coffee noisily in between shoving rice in his mouth, chewing with no finesse at all, mouth wide open.

“No,” he responded, reply muffled by his full mouth, rice dropping onto the table.

“Then why are you here?”

Sly paused, chewing and swallowing his latest mouthful, shrugging absently in his too-large jacket, “it’s cold out there, this place is _really_ easy to break into.” He took another mouthful of coffee, slopping over onto the table, “and where else could I get a free breakfast?”

“Who said it’s free?” Mizuki asked, although he had no intention of taking any kind of payment from him.

Sly paused in his frantic chewing, lowering his chopsticks to the table and raising his eyebrows slightly, “well, I don’t have any money… But I’m sure I could figure out some sort of way to repay you.” His eyes had gained a playful, almost seductive tint again as he leaned forwards over the table, mouth cocked into a smirk.

“Oh really,” Mizuki asked, deciding to play along for a moment, his team had told him Sly was known as someone to go to for certain… services, were you to like that sort of thing, and he wanted to test that theory out, theoretically at least. “Like what?”

“Well I could suck your-“ Sly started calmly, face stating he honestly didn’t mind, which made Mizuki feel quite queasy.

“That’s! _Really_ not what I meant!” He exclaimed, face flushing pink at how openly Sly had made his intentions clear, not even blushing as he suggested doing… _that_ , to an almost complete stranger.

“Huh,” Sly looked almost surprised, lighting a cigarette and offering them over, leaning closer than the bartender would have liked to ignite his too. “Guess this is going to be an expensive breakfast then.”

He clocked the hand sliding up his thigh the minute it touched his leg, promptly wrapping his own fingers around the slim wrist and pulling it away. “You are going nowhere near my dick.”

“What a shame,” he said, and he looked honestly disappointed even as he rolled his eyes sarcastically, smirk still playful and almost dangerous on his lips. “Unless that means you want to get me off, hm?”

“Tempting as that is,” Mizuki acknowledged, and his sarcasm was real, the idea making his skin crawl. "You’re what, sixteen?”

“Yeah, so what?” His harsh shell was back, eyes glaring and looking almost offended. “Doesn’t mean I’m not a good fuck.”

“Never said it did, I’m just not big on breaking the law.” Mizuki explained, although that wasn’t entirely the reason, if he really liked somebody younger than the legal age, it probably wouldn’t stop him. No, the problem here was that Sly was throwing these things around like they weren’t important, like using his body as repayment for a free breakfast was a totally normal thing to do, when it really wasn’t.

“I’d make it worth your while.” His voice had lost its seductiveness, now he was just earnestly trying to prove himself worthy to the bartender.

“I’m sure you would,” and the straightforward way he had offered meant there was no doubt in his mind it would indeed be ‘worth his while’, were he to want to. “But I was joking, you don’t owe me anything.”

Sly’s eyes narrowed, both their breakfasts forgotten as they essentially, argued. “So… You’re just giving me free food?”

“Yeah.”

“And letting me break in and sleep here with no punishment?”

“Basically.”

There was a pause as Sly tried to understand this, “are you sure you’re not a serial killer?”

Mizuki laughed, and the tension was gone, Sly’s mouth twitching upwards as the inside joke, “certain, now eat, it’s going cold.”

There was silence as they both resumed eating, Sly shoving it in like it was about to be pulled away, and Mizuki trying not to let the sight put him off his own food too much, watching in mild amusement at his lack of table manners. “I asked my team about you.”

His hand froze, coffee mug halfway to his mouth and next sip too deliberate to seem casual, raising an eyebrow curiously, “and yet I’m still here, they must have been nice.”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled, draining the last of his mug and lighting a cigarette, pushing the packet across the table and earning a narrow eyed stare as Sly watched him light up.

“So… How is it you haven’t kicked me out?” His gaze was calculative as Mizuki stood, gathering up their dirty plates and stacking them into a neat pile, disappearing into the kitchen for a second before returning.

He shrugged as he resumed his seat, taking a long drag from his cigarette, “you haven’t done anything to me, and I make it a habit not to listen to rumours.”

“One of few,” Sly remarked, and his face was twisted bitterly, a contrast from the almost relaxed, if not guarded, expression he had worn so far, smoke swirling up past his yellow eyes dangerously. Mizuki might not have any personal reason to hate him, but Sly had a marvellous ability of turning people against him, it was only a matter of time. “Anyway, I got people to fuck up, so…”

“Oh, yeah,” the bartender jumped up from his seat easily, grabbing his set of keys from beside the door and letting Sly stalk out first, waiting patiently at the gate as his cold fingers fumbled with the lock. “No kiss this time?” Mizuki asked as he finally unlocked the gate, but he was joking.

“I thought you didn’t want payment?” Sly’s expression didn’t seem any more pissed than his normal resting face did, but something in his tone had hardened, maybe thinking that the tattooist had changed his mind about his kind act.

“I don’t, guess it was just a one-time thing, huh?”

“Seems that way,” Sly commented back, trying to smirk but it died on his lips, face falling into an uncertain expression, turning to leave without saying anything else.

“You know, you could just knock.”

Sly turned around, eyebrow quirked in confusion, seeking clarification.

“Instead of breaking in,” Mizuki explained, because surely it was obvious? Sly obviously had no sort of income, and something in him reminded the bartender of himself at that age, a little lost, very scared, and with nobody who really cared about him. If he could offer him a warm place to sleep or the occasional hot meal, it didn’t put him out any, and it might really help Sly get his life sorted out, so why wouldn’t he do it?

He didn’t respond, but something in his face changed, falling another notch down and away from his usual confident, cocky personality, almost looking vulnerable as he just nodded once and left.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sly! Didn’t expect to see you in here.”

The addressed just smirked, settling into his seat at the bar almost furtively, looking around as if pretending not to be assessing the situation for danger, though his yellow eyes flashed dangerously. “Got some money didn’t I? Figured I’d spend it on overpriced booze and bad company.”

Well wasn’t he as sweet as always? Though Mizuki had to admit his honest, if not rude, approach was refreshing. “I’m almost offended, you get a job or something?”

“Nah, did a couple of friends some favors, nothing too major.” He shrugged, long hair not quite concealing the finger shaped bruises on his neck that made Mizuki’s response waver slightly as his eyes lingered on them a second too long, yellow eyes narrowing as he yanked his collar up.

“Fair enough, what can I get you?”

“Vodka.” He answered shortly, not offering any more detail than that, ordering with confidence, as if Mizuki didn’t know he was underage, but then, it was hardly like he’d throw him out, this might be the first time he’d had a roof over his head in days.

What had he really been expecting? He was hardly the alcopop type after all, but straight vodka was too much even for hardened drinkers like Mizuki, let alone for a sixteen year old, but Sly looked like he’d been drinking since he was far younger, so he wouldn’t question it.

“Just like a bottle or..?” He was joking, taking the piss out of Sly’s less than specific order, blanching slightly then he just nodded, sliding a crumpled handful of ¥1000 notes across the bar. He wasn’t surprised he didn’t have a coil either, though he wondered to himself as he retrieved a bottle, ‘the good shit’, as Sly had insisted, and a glass, that maybe he should spend his money more wisely, maybe on some warmer clothes or a proper meal.

If he charged him less than half, nobody had to know, handing him his change in a folded pile that, to his relief, he just shoved in his pocket. He was almost tempted to not charge him at all, but at over ¥7000 a bottle, he wanted to at least get some, besides, he had the feeling Sly wasn’t the type to take charity kindly, folding only three notes up and sliding them into the till.

He watched almost queasily as Sly opened the bottle, pouring what was at least a double measure, if not a triple, into his glass and downed it easily, barely even wincing other than a slight hardening of his jaw. It must have burnt, but seemingly with everything else, he’d learnt to hide it, just pouring another, though he didn’t drink this one so fast, two mouthfuls and it was gone, licking his lips dry and eyes focused on the clear liquid.

Mizuki was about to think of something else to say, something hopefully at least slightly witty that would earn that quirk of his lip and a raised eyebrow, because his expressions fascinated him, slightest change of his face displaying so little emotion but so much. But there was a small crowd forming and as efficient as his other two bartenders might be, none of them could deal with seven people at once, especially as one of them was already bogged down with an order of six different cocktails for a group of girls who kept taking obnoxious selfies.

He switched into work mode immediately, taking orders with one hand and pouring with the other, scanning coils and exchanging pleasantries with people he recognized, ignoring the growing pain in his back, working around his colleagues with practiced ease. Passing bottles when asked and cleaning up spills as he went with a cloth that had seen better days, unaware of the yellow eyes on him the entire time, gaze impassive if not impressed, watching as he poured shots and sugared the rims of glasses, popping umbrellas and winking at particularly flirtatious customers. He had charisma, that was how he’d describe it, a natural likable factor that made him so much more interesting to Sly, because why would somebody like that show even the remotest interest in him?

* * *

 

The bar stayed bustling, Saturday night was always the busiest after Friday, and Mizuki remained occupied with his job, cracking open beers and alcopops for people who were noisy and stumbling and glared at him like he was a piece of shit not a legitimate customer like them. At one point a fight broke out, some guy had apparently been hitting on somebody else’s girlfriend and her boyfriend hadn’t liked it. His ears perked up and he shifted in his seat to watch, glad things were finally getting interesting, but it was resolved remarkably fast, barely one punch was thrown before Mizuki was in the middle, catching the fist that came his way easily and twisting the guys arm behind his back. It was almost boring to watch, the guy was half Mizuki’s size and seemed to have an ego far bigger than his muscles, so once he realized it was useless to complain he let himself get kicked out pretty easily, girlfriend trotting out after him as if she hadn’t been letting the other guy chat her up. People really were disgusting when it came to it, they might act like nice, upstanding citizens, but they were all dirty inside, Sly just made his rotten core more obvious, and people hated him for it.

The other guy looked genuinely apologetic as Mizuki kicked him out too, seemingly having had no idea the whore had a boyfriend, and how would he? With how she’d been draped over him it seemed obvious that she must be single, but no, she was a slut through and through, even if she tried to deny it, it was out for the world to know now.

Impressed as he was with how fast the bartender had been to get it under control, he still felt disappointed that his only entertainment for the night was gone, having to watch with an unexplained feeling in his chest as Mizuki accepted the praise of a group of women who quickly swarmed him. He laughed them off easily enough, voice blocked out by the music and the loud mess of voices, presumably saying it was nothing, ignoring the hands on his shoulders and biceps and just waving them away good-naturedly as he headed back to the bar.

“Superman strikes again,” Sly remarked dryly as Mizuki picked up a glass from next to him, earning a sheepish grin as he shrugged casually.

“You fight in my bar, you get kicked out. I’ve dealt with worse than that,” Sly bet he had, his knuckles had the same damaged sheen as his, from broken skin that had healed and been broken again more than once. Plus his position as the leader of a prominent Rib team essentially meant he had to be good at fighting, whether with fists or with words, needing to be to secure his team’s turf and ensure they wouldn’t be overtaken as the Island’s best. He turned away from Sly as somebody nudged him, muttering something in his ear and aiming a watery blue glare his way that he responded to with a smug smirk, because he was not going to let some asshole intimidate him when he had as much right to be here as them.

Mizuki’s expression turned sour and he spoke shortly to the other, glancing over in his direction more than once, Sly tried to read his lips but failed after only a few words, seemingly the other bar patron had some issue with his being there. Amusingly enough it looked like Mizuki was arguing his corner for him, saying something about paying and not being trouble, and he was right, he’d bought his booze outright, with cash no less, and hadn’t even spoken to anyone.

The guy just shrugged and turned away, aiming a displeased look in his direction but not daring to say anything as Sly raised an eyebrow at him, encouraging, taunting him to fucking say something, to start a fight. But he walked off and Sly was left alone again, the stool beside him staying empty all night, nobody going anywhere near and people actively glaring at him even though he did nothing but sit there and slowly drink his way through the bottle, smoking the occasional cigarette. If anything he was an ideal customer, he didn’t cause a fuss, or fight or even spill anything, just sat there minding his own business and being hated for it.

* * *

 

“Not the most popular guy, are you?” Mizuki remarked good-naturedly as he began collecting dirty glasses from the tables, stacking them neatly into the dishwasher, sound of rushing water loud as he dampened a cloth to wipe sticky surfaces with. Last orders had been called half an hour ago, and the other customers had slowly walked, stumbled, or been carried out to carry on their nights, leaving only Sly, Mizuki and another bartender.

“Surprised you noticed,” the sarcasm in his tone was almost biting and he just shook his head in amusement, because really, how could anybody dislike somebody this fast at a comeback?

“I’m very observant,” he replied calmly, wondering how on earth Sly seemed so coherent after drinking an entire bottle of vodka, he knew very few people who could manage that, and the ones who could were a damn sight bigger than him. But he couldn't very well ask now, he had to finish tidying up so he could go home, eat some reheated noodles and crawl into bed. Telling the other, Hideaki, that he was going to check the stock room and offering Sly a smile as he disappeared, leaving him with his increasingly nervous looking coworker.

* * *

 

“Oh, you can go if you want, Hideaki, I can finish up.” Mizuki seemed surprised that the other bartender was still there when he returned, lifting chairs onto tables in preparation for sweeping Mizuki normally did the next morning, too tired to do it at night when he really should.

The addressed paused, eyes flashing over to Sly as he’d expected before returning back to Mizuki’s, “you sure?” His words were casual enough, but both Sly and Mizuki had caught onto his hidden meaning, will you be okay with _him_?

“Honestly, I’m fine,” Mizuki grinned, not letting it bother him even though his eyes had creased for a second as if hurt, small movement not missed by piercing yellow.

“But Mizuki, he’s…” This was more blatant and the bartenders jaw hardened though his smile remained sunny and almost unnervingly calm.

“Just finishing his drink, it’s not even closing time yet, I can hardly kick him out, and he's not causing any trouble.” He reasoned, raising one hand as if to say there was nothing he could do about it, and it was true that if it was anybody else he wouldn’t have any reason to throw them out early, so why should he do that to Sly?

It was obvious he didn’t like it, frowning and looking indecisive even as he nodded, shooting Sly a look less aggressive than he was used to, more confused than anything else, maybe wondering why he hadn’t caused trouble, why he wasn’t objecting to being talked about. “Alright, cheers boss.”

“Sure thing, oh, I just remembered, I saw Natsumi last week, how’s she doing?” He continued to clean as he spoke, and Hideaki’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, presumably that was his wife, or just a girlfriend, Sly didn’t know, he didn't really care.

“She’s great, due any day now,” he paused for a second to check his coil, excitement clear in his glittering eyes as he looked back up.

“Tonight’s your last shift right?” He asked, removing a piece of paper, presumably some kind of shift schedule from behind the bar, examining it as the other nodded. “Alright cool, well tell her I said hi, and don’t forget to send me a picture so I can show the guys.”

“I won’t, thanks Mizuki! Night,” he left with a grin he hadn’t had two minutes previously, walking into the night and closing the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

“He was friendly,” Sly commented dryly, emptying the remainder of the bottle into his glass and promptly downing it, letting the burn settle in his throat, reminding him not to say anything he wouldn’t while not under the influence. He licked his lips as Mizuki turned those olive eyes his way, offering an apologetic shrug that made his shoulders roll deliciously, Sly’s eyes following the strain of his biceps as he emptied the tray of steaming glasses from the dishwasher and began putting them away, still hot.

“He’s just looking out for me, you have quite the reputation,” his smile was playful and it made something warm rise in Sly’s chest, blaming the alcohol for his sudden interest in the bartenders movements, noticing a glimpse of white tattoo on his back as his vest rode up. Now that was interesting, he wondered absently where else he was inked as he lit a new cigarette, picturing his back, tanned skin richly muscled and white snakes, or perhaps a dragon, worming its way down the smooth sinews of his skin.

“Hadn’t noticed,” he remarked, suddenly seeing the contrast between their conversation when he first entered and this, wondering if Mizuki had done it on purpose, it was clever if he had. His eyes flicked to the clock above the bar, 2.12am, not too bad he guessed, but he should leave now if he wanted to get to his dealer before he disappeared into a club for the night, standing up and ignoring the way his stool scraped the ground.

“You going?” Mizuki asked, bundle of keys suddenly in his hand, maybe thinking he’d lock up after Sly left, not that he’d care if he was in the way.

“Got some business to do,” he shrugged, sliding the empty bottle down the bar to Mizuki, sleeves rolling up for a second and suddenly dark eyes focusing on the rope burns on his wrists, not bothering to hide them, because why should he? He nodded towards the bottle as he spoke, unfamiliar word leaving his lips tingling strangely, “thanks.”

“Sure, I almost thought you were going to try and crash on my couch again,” he looked almost amused rather than irritated, perhaps having thought that from the moment Sly walked in.

“Nah, I’d just break in if I wanted to do that,” he smirked, knowing the bartender wouldn’t even doubt it, he’d done it twice before after all, and with no repercussions, in fact he’d gotten a free breakfast twice, it was rather a nice arrangement and he had no plan of letting it go. “I just came to get drunk.”

“And are you?” Sly blinked, whether the alcohol was dimming his senses, he didn’t know, but he’d been too focused staring at the bartenders lips to actually hear him, blinking absently from behind a cloud of smoke. “Drunk?”

“Hm, little bit. It’s cool though, I’ll be fucked up by three.” It was true, he didn’t know what his dealer would give him, it tended to differ week by week, but he knew that when he got it he’d be gone within a very short time. Maybe he’d suck a few guys off first to earn a bit more money, he’d needed a new blanket for a while and despite his best efforts he hadn’t managed to steal one yet, maybe he should try to actually pay for something for once.

“You gunna be okay getting home?” Mizuki looked genuinely concerned, green eyes crinkling in the corners and forehead furrowing under his fringe, pushed back off his face and glistening with sweat, because it was suddenly a million degrees in the bar.

But then his words sunk in and Sly was cold, scowling and almost angry because fuck him, “I can look after myself.”

His words were venomous, but Mizuki barely blinked, just grinning disarmingly, “I don’t doubt it. I just wouldn’t want a valued customer getting hurt.” His smile said he knew what a ridiculous excuse it was, but Sly had the feeling he was the kinda guy who’d go out of his way to help somebody get home if they were drunk. He couldn’t help but feel condescended by the special treatment though, because he wasn’t a child, he’d been fine by himself all these years, who did Mizuki think he was? Some kind of superhero? Come along to change Sly and save him from his evil ways? Mizuki, redeemer, something about it left a stale taste in Sly’s mouth, and even Mizuki’s upwards stretch and the tightness of his muscle vest couldn’t wash it away.

“I’m not the one who’ll get hurt.”

Mizuki’s expression faltered, because he could go from warm to icy in seconds and he wasn’t used to that, couldn’t adjust to his two sides, one almost playful, with snide jabs and witty comebacks, and this one with glares and threats and hardness he shouldn’t have at his age.

“Well that’s reassuring I suppose,” he bounced back remarkably fast, and that was impressive, earning an amused huff of air from his guest, who turned and walked to the door without looking back, barely hesitating at his parting jab. “Need me to hold your hair back if you’re sick?”

He was glad the bartender couldn’t see his face as he cracked an only mildly offended smile, raising a middle finger in his direction and yelling his goodbye into the night air, trusting he heard it. “Fuck you, asshole!”

* * *

 

Mizuki’s laughter echoed after him all the way to the club, resounding in his head as he swallowed and wiped salt from his lips, grunted at the hard fingers in his hair and thrust crumpled notes into his pocket. It followed him home where he stabbed a needle into his arm and flopped onto his mattress fully dressed, waiting for it to hit and annihilate everything he knew, especially the warm feeling that lingered in his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

It was way too fucking early for this, there was frost on the ground for gods’ sakes, who’d be out this early except morons and people hurrying to work with heads bowed and no intention to cause trouble? But still, here he was, patrolling Dry Juice’s turf just in case somebody tried to stake a claim to it at 7am, what was even more annoying was that he was only doing this because he couldn’t sleep and the normal guy had called in sick, though he sounded more hungover. But in spite of his protestations, here he was, thinking to himself he’d rather be in bed or doing something actually useful like going for a jog, looking almost longingly at his normal route up through to the junk yards. He huffed a sigh, taking a drink of the flask of coffee in his hand and just being thankful he could wrap up warm, wondering absently if Hayato, Sora and Nobu were okay, they had just moved into an apartment together, which to his knowledge still had no heating. He decided to drop them a line later just in case, he couldn’t have his team getting sick, not if the rumours that there was a new team steadily gaining members were true, he refused to lose their position as number one on the island.

He shivered despite his thick hoodie and double layered t-shirts under it, wishing he’d thought to bring a scarf, though his hood kept his ears warm and his nose wasn’t running quite yet, so he supposed it could be worse. He knew the route like the back of his hand, turning left down an even smaller alleyway, only wide enough for one person at a time and crisscrossing with pipes and ventilation ducts that spewed out steam. It ended suddenly, at Dry Juice’s official hangout, looking the same as always, tag art resplendent and not yet fading where it graced the wide set of stairs and some of the boarded up windows and walls surrounding it. The crates and empty fuel canisters where people sometimes sat to play cards were still set up, and everything seemed to be in order, as he’d expected. There was some noise coming from the alleyway across from the stairs though, the one he knew led to a dead end, a fairly sized rectangle where he often let the team practice fighting, as long as they didn’t actually hurt each other too bad.

It was probably just some kids messing around, like those three brats he knew enjoyed destroying stores then running away, two boys and a girl he thought they were, wiping his nose as he strode confidently down the alley. He ducked under a thick black pipe, cracked and useless, dripping cold water into a puddle on the potholed ground underneath, eyes regarding the smashed glass and the broken splinters of wood, those were new.

He knew what he was dealing with the second he saw them, dressed totally inadequately for the cold but pretending not to shiver, the nearest man to him had an outlandish Mohawk type hairstyle. But it was the tattoo that made him groan softly even as he carefully picked his way over the hazard strewn floor, sidestepping a nail gracefully, a bikini-clad woman, with grossly blown-up breasts, riding a hot pink bomb.

Bug Bomb, _again_ , did they ever do anything but cause trouble? It seemed not, three of them were surrounding another, smaller looking guy who was pressed up against the wall, and on Dry Juice turf too, one of them having the audacity to rest his palm on their tag art.

He didn’t say anything, but he was exasperated because this happened a lot, they had no sense of how Rib even worked and walked around as if everywhere was theirs, waiting til members of other teams dispersed before moving to stand in their areas as if they’d actually done something to earn a place there. In terms of actual fighting to earn their own turf, they never seemed to show any interest in it, usually running from a fight unless it was against a weaker opponent, as seemed to be the case here. He cleared his throat as he approached, raising an unimpressed eyebrow and knowing his appearance alone would be enough to scare them away from whoever they were harassing, it usually was.

“What do you want asshole?” One of them demanded, clearly not recognising him, maybe because of the hood over his head, expression turning steely as he pulled it down, not used to being addressed so rudely by trash like this and not particularly appreciating it.

His friend turned at the disturbance too, sneer falling into the look of pure panic he’d expected, elbowing his friend hard in the side hard and earning a growl of annoyance and an open handed smack to the back of his head. “Shut up idiot! That’s Mizuki!” He almost hissed it, regarding him like one might a particularly terrifying teacher and promptly backing away, smile almost apologetic, though Mizuki didn’t give a single fuck how apologetic they might be.

“Who?” The third spoke up now, and he was either a new member or had his tattoo in an unsavoury location, Mizuki didn’t really care to think about that, listening with vague amusement as they talked about him instead of just doing what they were bound to do anyway, running.

“He’s the leader of Dry Juice! The biggest team on the island,” he hissed, offering Mizuki a rather thin smile in apology. “We were just cleaning up for you.”

His raised eyebrow and step forwards made them back away as one, eyes too focused on them, because really they were too fun to scare, “on my team’s turf?”

“Um…” It was obvious they hadn’t expected to be caught, looking between each other as if trying to find some way to avoid a fight that wasn’t coming, Mizuki was bored of them by now though, they obviously didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.

His raised hand made one of them audibly whimper and he heard a snort from their still unidentified victim, just behind him, pointing his thumb back down the alleyway. “Go on, fuck off.” It took another step forwards and a vaguely stern look before they were fleeing, arguing amongst themselves even as they ran, because apparently one of them had told them it was a bad idea. “Jesus…”

He shook his head as he watched them go, rubbing a hand across his forehead and turning to their potential victim with a concerned expression, glad he seemed to have arrived before things got nasty. “Hey, are you oka-“

He froze, words dying in his mouth, because he recognised that amused smirk, yellow eyes gleaming up at him from where he stood quite casually, leaning on the wall and examining his fingernails absently as if he hadn’t just been outnumbered, three to one.

“Sly,” he remarked, and honestly he wasn’t even surprised it had been him, who else was so hated they would encourage one team to wander into another’s territory just to pick a fight with them? “Why am I not surprised? Having fun, were you?”

“You know me,” he shrugged, smirk almost friendly and presumably whatever personality trait that had set the Bug Bomb guys against him wiped away, if anything he looked quite approachable now, maybe even pleasant. “Making new friends every day.”

He snorted at that, because Sly and making friends were not things anybody would associate with each other, he was more likely to make enemies, and seemingly had just this morning. “With Bug Bomb? What awful taste.”

“Oh they’re good for a laugh,” Mizuki had to agree, if any Rib team could be deemed shambolic and unorganised it was Bug Bomb, who seemingly had no leader, no rules and could be joined by anybody getting the tattoo and announcing themselves a member.

“So what did you do to piss them off? And don’t say nothing,” although, from what he knew of Sly’s reputation from Tio and the rest of his team, it was very possible they’d picked a fight with him purely for being him.

“I was just having a nice, early morning run, and they decided to follow me,” he spoke as if he’d been attacked for no good reason, but Mizuki’s eyes had narrowed at his innocent tone, because that wasn’t him.

“Running from who?”

“Do I have to be running from someone? You have no faith in me,” he remarked, but he was grinning, face dropping into a truer expression a second later. “I got caught trying to nick something, their gran owns the shop or some shit.”

“Hm,” Mizuki laughed out a huff of air, because of course it was something like that, his lie of going on a casual run hadn’t tricked him for a second, it seemed like exactly the sort of thing he would do, and Mizuki supposed if he was in Bug Bomb’s place, he might have given chase too. “What were you trying to steal?”

His eyes had narrowed, relaxed expression closed off again behind his mask of self-preservation, “why you want to know?”

The bartender shrugged, taking the last mouthful of his coffee and immediately mourning its loss, metal already cooling against his hand, “nosiness, curiosity, call it what you will.”

Sly seemed to weigh this up for a second, nose flushed red with cold and hood of his thin jacket pulled up over his head, hiding his trademark blue hair and chunky headphones, maybe trying to be invisible. He answered grudgingly, staring off at a used needle in one corner of the dead end, “blanket.”

Mizuki blinked, because he hadn’t expected that, he’d thought maybe he’d say cigarettes or alcohol, or perhaps some trinket that caught his eye, but a blanket? Something so basic and essential seemed almost cruel to deny him, even if he was stealing it, “It is getting colder.”

“Yeah,” he replied, eyebrows crinkled almost in disbelief at the obviousness of his words, but clearly trying to change the subject, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“What do you think they were going to do?” He asked, he knew Bug Bomb weren’t exactly the most ethically sound team, so beating Sly up for an attempted theft did not sound below them.

“Beat the shit out of me,” he spoke like it was obvious, seemingly not at all bothered by how close he’d come to being beaten, and probably fairly badly too, just shrugging like it was normal, which he guessed it probably was. “But luckily I had my Prince Charming to come save me.”

“Not superman any more then?” He asked, and he was grinning, because Sly was a piece of work, and he wanted to know him better, his shifts in personality and expression fascinated him, how rapidly he could shift to a cheeky teenager was almost disorientating.

“Nah, you got promoted,” he was searching his pocket, removing a packet of cigarettes and lighting one, pursing his lips at the box for a second before offering Mizuki it, scoffing softly as he shook his head and removed his own pack. It felt somehow cruel to take his cigarettes when he obviously had to risk a beating just to get them, plus the pack only had two left and Mizuki made it a rule not to take anybody’s last cigarettes, even if they insisted.

He lit up too and exhaled white smoke into the cold air, dragon breath filling the space between them, the silence was rather nice, and once again he wondered why people hated Sly so much, sure he had questionable methods of getting things, but Mizuki’s experience of him had yet to become unpleasant. But still, something was on his mind, “pretty shitty to beat you up when you didn’t actually steal anything.”

He was almost frowning, eyes downcast as he tapped ash off his cigarette and watched it tumble to the ground, “yeah well, people don’t exactly need a reason.”

He was going to object, to say that beating somebody up for something they’d done to someone else was shitty, not to mention illogical, but Sly was standing up off the wall, straightening out his jacket and pulling his earphones up.

“As lovely as this was,” his expression spoke false politeness, but his smirk was teasing as he span round on his heel, walking backwards out of the alley and ducking the pipe without even looking. "I have beatings to avoid so…”

Mizuki snorted at that, only Sly could use that as a way to end a conversation, “don’t get killed,” he yelled after his now retreating back.

“I make no promises!” He called back, and what was most worrying was that he, of all people, really couldn’t make promises about that, Mizuki had the nasty feeling a few people on the island wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, or at least inadvertently finish him off.

* * *

 

The temperature continued to plummet that week, winter seemingly coming early for the residents of Midorijima, who had to change from short sleeves and sun hats to scarves and gloves within what seemed like a few days. People everywhere were talking of the mainland being effected too, but obviously they were worse off, stuck in the middle of the ocean, icy winds came from every direction and the cold breeze from the sea chilled to the bone. Already Mizuki had dragged his extra blanket out of the attic along with his warmer clothes, matching beanie and scarf, and his trusty fingerless gloves, or hobo gloves as his team affectionately called them. His plans of a week before to begin jogging in the mornings again fell away as he attempted one day only to feel like he was dying as he choked in icy breaths, body shivering as his sweat dried and almost seemed to freeze on his skin, and he vowed to just use his treadmill instead.

As usual, plans were put into action in case some of the team got sick, as they always did when it got cold, one member already suffering with nasty flu and others getting sick every day, with small colds, or with more serious ailments. The bar was to be opened only on Friday and Saturday night, though tattoo appointments could still be made and handled by Mizuki, he knew people didn’t want to walk to the bar in this cold, whether to work or for entertainment.

With the team unofficially disbanded for winter, and the bar almost always shut, Mizuki was almost starved for things to do, finding himself cleaning of all things, sorting out the attic and carrying armfuls of crap down to the bins in the alleyway that led to his apartment.

All kinds of things he’d forgotten about were in there, old pictures from the orphanage, school books and novels he had no memory of reading, clothes from years passed with ‘property of Midorijima children’s home’ stamped in them. Most went straight in the bin, one pile of stuff he was keeping remained but he would probably never look at again, like the photograph albums and a couple of things he’d made as an institutionalised child.

Another pile he deemed ‘useful’ and had stuff like a sleeping bag, a selection of kitchenware he didn’t remember buying, and a fold out camping chair he also had no memory of. These were things he probably would never use, but might be of use to somebody else, the sleeping bag for example, made his mind turn to Sly for the first time in days, thinking it seemed like exactly what he needed. But the problem was, he had no way of getting it to him, other than carrying it around the streets in the hope he saw him, which left another problem, he had an issue with charity, that was obvious when he tried to repay Mizuki for breakfast with sex. Just the thought made him cringe, something inside him objecting deeply to the way he sought to repay kindness, using his own body as a means of thanks when just a smile would do.

For now all he could do was put the small pile in his apartment, using the corner opposite his desk as storage space and deciding to ask his team if they wanted any of it, and if not to give it to a charity shop when it got warmer again.

* * *

 

It was hot in his apartment now, too hot, he gasped for breath as the sweat on his skin trickled down his back unpleasantly, soaking the waistband of his shorts as he slowed his jog to a walk and finally turned the treadmill off altogether. There was no way he could work out in this heat without passing out, grabbing a towel to dry his face and sweaty hair and walking out of his small gym to turn the thermostat down a good few degrees so he wouldn’t sweat to death. He headed straight for it, luckily it was just outside the gym door so he didn’t have to stop his workout for long, twisting it down and hoping it would cool quickly, he didn’t want his muscles to relax or he might strain himself. His arm was cramping uncomfortably at his side and his throat was dry, stretching out the sore limb as he walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, cracking it open and taking a deep drink, sighing in relief because God that was-

“Holy shit!” The bottle fell to the ground and icy water covered his feet and legs, which admittedly wasn’t too bad, but the minor heart attack he swore he’d just had was, intruder regarding him with a raised eyebrow as if he hadn’t broken in. He was choking on his own spit, he was sure of that, breaking into a rather unattractive coughing fit as his lungs tried to murder him, finally managing a glare, throwing his sweat-soaked towel at his uninvited guest. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

He easily dodged the towel, grimacing as it landed damply on the floor beside him, but shaking his head and turning back to the bartender whose home he’d intruded upon. “You’d know if I was doing that,” Sly remarked calmly, acting as if he was meant to be there, sat on his sofa and smoking a cigarette from the packet he’d left on the coffee table. “Nah, everywhere is shut so I was gunna steal your food instead, thought you’d be at work.”

“We… We’re shut for winter,” he explained, too alarmed and confused to be able to say anything more intelligent, like ‘how the fuck did you get in?’ or, ‘you could have just fucking knocked!’

“Ah. Well I came for food, but I didn’t expect a show too,” his grin turned almost dirty and Mizuki looked down at himself in realisation, wearing nothing but his gym shorts and trainers, sweat trickling down his torso. All in all it was quite the visual, and Sly seemed to be fully enjoying it, yellow eyes following the trail of a sweat drop down his navel, tilting his head to the side appreciatively.

“A criminal and a pervert,” Mizuki remarked, but he made no attempt to cover himself up, he didn’t really see the point, he’d already informed Sly that he was off limits, and he was very aware he could easily fight him off, were it to somehow come to that. “Aren’t I the lucky one?”

“You sure are,” he beamed, smile wide and eyes finally off his torso, trying to pretend his cheeks weren’t pink with the focused attention he’d been giving him, specifically his chest. “So, how about that food?”

“Go grab whatever,” he really didn’t care, he was planning on living on takeaway, ramen and anything microwavable over the winter break, so anything Sly took he could easily replace.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Sly returned from the kitchen, after the alarming sound of all his cupboards opening and closing at least four times and the horrible jangling of the fridge door slamming, that he remembered the sleeping bag.

“Oh, I just remembered,” he remarked, finding it in its blue bag and picking it up so Sly could see. “I found this in the attic and thought you might want it.”

“What is it?” He asked, regarding the nondescript sack with curiosity rather than annoyance, though Mizuki knew that would appear the moment he realised he was being offered something else for free.

“Sleeping bag, I’m not going to use it so I figured I’d give it to you,” he shrugged, he knew anybody else would understand his reasoning, maybe ask if he was sure, then having gained reassurance that it was in fact, fine, would take it graciously, but this was Sly.

“Why?” The suspicion in his voice was obvious, jaw suddenly set hard as he regarded the sleeping bag Mizuki was proffering, feeling more like a moron the longer he just held it there and eventually lowering it. He’d known Sly wouldn’t exactly like it, but his straight up caution was almost too much.

“Call it a Christmas present,” he shrugged, because if that made him feel better about it then why not? All he knew was that he wanted Sly to have it, he’d get a damn lot of use out of it, and with the plummeting temperatures it meant he might live through winter with all his toes intact.

“I don’t do Christmas,” his voice was steely and firm, yellow eyes narrow and glaring at him as if disgusted he’d even try and offer him charity like this, so blatantly. Maybe he was still thinking of ulterior motives and evil plots to somehow kill him with kindness, constantly calculating risk and danger levels in his mind so he could never just accept a nice gesture.

“Me neither,” Mizuki responded quickly, eyes locking and waiting to see who would cave first, and of course it was Sly, because he did need something new to sleep under, that was why he’d tried to steal a blanket the last time he’d seen the bartender. He almost wondered if his story of finding it in the attic was true, he wouldn’t put it past him to go out and buy it deliberately intending to give it to him, he was just a nice guy like that.

“Fine, shouldn’t I give you a Christmas present too then?” He asked eyebrow raised as if expecting Mizuki to actually consider it, not surprised as his expression softened into an almost exasperated grin, biting his bottom lip in frustration.

“Not the kind of present you’re thinking of,” he responded, fully expecting the pout his words received, wondering how it was that somebody as seemingly hard as Sly could pull an expression so sweet.

“You’re no fun.” He sulked, sliding down to sit on the sofa and not reacting as Mizuki scoffed quietly, because he _was_ fun, he just wasn’t the kind of fun that enjoyed receiving sexual favours from sixteen year olds, no matter how good they reported being. “At least let me do something to show my gratitude.”

Gratitude was not the word he thought of when he saw Sly accept his gifts, it was more like begrudging acceptance and no small amount of reluctance, so he knew immediately this was a ploy to guilt trip him into accepting his… gratitude.

“Nope,” he answered easily, retrieving his towel and using it to sponge the back of his neck dry, wiping it through his hair and ruffling it with his fingers.

“Come on, we don’t have to fuck, I could just suck you off?” His yellow eyes followed him as he pulled on a red hoodie, zipping it up halfway and growing alarmingly aware of the attention Sly had focused on his nipples, flushing pink even as he responded firmly.

“Not going to happen.”

“Hand job?”

“No?”

“Foot job?”

“Sly,” he turned to him warningly, although that last suggestion had at least made him smile purely with its ridiculousness, because surely such a thing wouldn’t work, or, he almost hoped it wouldn’t. Shaking his head to wipe out some rather worrying images that made him cringe, because feet were _not_ his thing.

“Kiss under the mistletoe?” He finished, but the almost unpleasant leer in his voice had gone and he finally sounded almost genuine, drawing an almost soft look from the bartender, although his mouth was still set in a frown.

“I don’t have mistletoe,” he reasoned, because why would he? He’d never really celebrated Christmas since he’d left the orphanage, except getting drunk and eating especially good food, so why would he have something like that?”

Sly considered this a minute, stuffing the sleeping bag into his gym bag and zipping it up before standing, “well I don’t _need_ the mistletoe.”

Mizuki supposed he should be flattered, here he was, with a sixteen year old boy desperate to have sex with him, just to kiss him by the sound of it, but it just rubbed him up the wrong way. As attractive as Sly might be, and he could well be with a good wash, a month of decent meals and some clean clothes, he was sixteen, and something about his attitude just made him feel uncomfortable. He’d let himself be kissed by him once, but he wasn’t going to let it happen again, this crush he seemed to have, or whatever it was, had to die, he wouldn’t encourage it.

“You could just say thank you,” he sighed, because it was almost tiring bantering with Sly like this, as much as he enjoyed it, especially so today since he’d been alone for so long.

Sly rolled his eyes, heading towards the door which Mizuki didn’t need to unlock, his guest had already picked the lock to get in after all, holding it open for him. He made sure to leave some space between them, he wouldn’t be surprised if the other just jumped him when they were in such close quarters. “Fine, thank you,” his tone was sincere and Mizuki smiled, because that was more like it, inclining his head and managing a smile that was almost warm, it did funny things to his stomach he refused to acknowledge.

Relieved he was going to leave without groping or otherwise attempting to seduce him in any way, Mizuki let his guard down, jumping as history repeated itself, and Sly’s lips met his once more. But it was the hand on his chest that made him jerk back, whacking his head off the door as Sly just laughed, fingers playing across the firm muscle and smiling quite smugly.

“Mm, even better than it looks,” he almost purred, and the way he bit his bottom lip and smiled was so distracting that he was leaving before Mizuki could even reply, offering a flirty wave on his way down the stairs.

“S-Stop molesting me!” He yelled after him, only hearing laughter in his wake and a plume of smoke coming up to fill his nostrils as he closed the door behind him, frowning because fuck, Sly was going to be a lot of trouble wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all take a second to appreciate that topless, sweaty Mizuki aesthetic


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t until after Christmas, or Mizuki’s watered down version anyway, that he saw Sly again, but so much happened in such a short space of time that any thoughts of him were wiped from his mind. The team reformed, and things went back to normal, reclaiming some of the turf they’d lost over their inactive period, just as they did every year, but this time, something had gone horribly wrong.

He could only remember pain, searing through his stomach, warmth on his hand and shouting voices, then the floor rushed up to meet him.

He didn’t know what had happened til three days later, and even then he wasn’t sure how things had gone so badly wrong. According to Tio, things had been proceeding as normal, they had the upper hand and the other team was going to back off and let them reclaim their land, the next thing he knew somebody drew a knife, there was blood and yelling, somebody crumpled to the ground. Mizuki, driven on instinct and adrenalin and the need to keep his team safe at all costs, went to try and wrestle the knife away, then suddenly it was sticking out of his stomach, five inches of metal buried deep within him.

So fast, so out of nowhere, a knife brought to a fist fight, a cheap tactic by the other team, who had since dissolved, though that didn’t soothe him much, asking with a wobbling voice what happened to the guy who went down before him.

“He’s dead, Mizuki.”

His breath caught in his throat and the hospital bed sheets suddenly felt like razor wire wrapping around his chest, everything fading down to the sound of his heart monitor beeping and the pounding of his blood through his ears. “W-Who was it?”

He took a steadying breath before he spoke, but Mizuki didn’t notice, “Yasu.”

He felt his world crumble as the name registered, Yasu, who he’d only tattooed a few days ago, who had only just joined, barely eighteen, full of enthusiasm and energy and smiles, whose mother had been worried about him joining but whom he had ignored. Who’d had so much faith and trust in Mizuki, who had inadvertently led him to his death.

He felt like he was going to be sick, and Tio’s hand on his didn’t help, shaking him off and blinking, expression blank because how was he expected to register this? Somebody was dead, one of his team was gone, just like that, one bad fight and his life was over as if it had never mattered.

“Mizuki, it’s not you faul-“

“Go home,” his voice shook as he spoke, swallowing back the vomit that rose in his throat and ignoring the burning of his eyes, ignoring his objections and refusing to look at him, because how could he? How could he go back to being the fearless team leader after this disaster? “Go home, Tio.”

What could he do but listen? Turning to leave, mouth parted as if trying to think of something to say, words failing as he just shut the door behind him and left Mizuki alone, guilt roiling in his gut and steady beeping of the machines that surrounded him doing nothing to comfort him.

* * *

 

Nearly two weeks, two surgeries later, about a million blood tests and more examinations than he ever hoped to undergo again, and he was cleared to go home, packing up the small bag of stuff Tio had brought and leaving the get well cards behind. Instead of doing what he’d been recommended, and trying to rest but also to stay fairly mobile to distract him from the grief, he’d spiralled into a depression like state. He didn’t get dressed, or get off the sofa, some days he just stayed in bed, he didn’t re-dress his wound like he was meant to, he barely ate and did nothing but blankly watch TV with an expression so dead Tio’s constant smile faded then fell away.

He was miserable, overwhelmed with guilt and didn’t know how to deal with anything. He was in pain but refused to take his medication because he deserved it, deserved to feel bad for what he’d inadvertently caused to happen. Yasu was dead, and it was nobody’s fault but his, he hadn’t gotten there fast enough, he could have stopped it and he hadn’t managed it.

It was his fault, and it was killing him, one day at a time.

* * *

 

He ignored the knock at the door, it would either be Tio, who had a key, or one of the team, and he didn’t want to see either. But the knocking got almost violent, and he couldn’t ignore it, whoever it was wouldn’t fuck off and he was almost angry because why wouldn’t they leave him alone? Why must they insist on trying to cheer him up, to defer blame when he knew it was all his fault and nothing they said would change that? But no, he wouldn’t fucking answer, they could knock until their knuckles were bloody, he didn’t have to let anybody in, he was allowed some time to himself wasn’t he? He’d been fucking stabbed after all.

But whoever it was didn’t seem to care that he needed rest and recuperation, beginning some incredibly loud and annoying knocking combo, with feet and fists it seemed, door actually shaking when he looked over. He bit his tongue, because he would not go to the door, he wouldn’t let in another well-wisher with a box of chocolates and a nervous speech about how great he always was as a leader and how he shouldn’t let one mistake bring him down. Because it was too fucking late, he was already as down as he could ever be and no amount of get well gifts would help.

But this fucker at the door going away, that would help. He threw the blanket off him aggressively, groaning as he realised he had once again forgotten the new weaknesses of his body, holding his stomach instinctively right over where the knife had plunged in. Whatever, stab wound or not this bastard at the door was getting their ass handed to them, or they would when he got there, walking slowly to not pull his stitches, head pounding from standing up so suddenly and dizziness overcoming him for a second.

Thank God for peepholes, one glance through it cleared up his anger immediately, because that blue hair could only belong to one person, and that scowl wasn’t on the face of somebody who’d try to make him feel better If anything he’d probably come to gloat, that was if he even knew, or maybe he just wanted to steal his stuff again, either was fine, he really didn’t care. Unlocking the door and meeting his scowl blankly, because it really didn’t bother him, not even Sly, notorious asshole could make him feel worse now.

“Sly,” he remarked blankly, and his guests face faltered because he didn’t make some witty remark about him actually being able to knock, just walking slowly to sit back down on the sofa, easing himself into his seat with a wince. “What do you want?

His welcome was less than warm, and he frowned for a second, before quickly regaining his usual attitude, smirking as he moved so he could see the bartender better. “Heard you got stabbed, wanted to see if it was true. Guess it is.” He took in the livid black eye with a sympathetic hiss, because his entire left eye was swollen shut, it was a shiner and a half, bruising spreading all down his cheek to his jaw where a white bandage stood out harshly on his tanned skin.

“Good to know everyone’s talking about it.” His words might have been joking, but his expression hadn’t changed and Sly’s grin failed at his almost dead tone, not rising or falling, but flat, emotionless. “Did you think my team was lying?”

“You might have wanted time off,” he shrugged, and that made Mizuki smile for the first time in what felt like days, absent and fading from his lips fast as he remembered how it happened. His voice was softer as he spoke, though his nosiness shone through in a way that Mizuki wasn’t sure he liked, refusing to meet his yellow gaze, even with his good eye. “What happened?”

“Turf war, somebody pulled a knife.” He answered shortly, and Sly’s irritation at his pathetic answer was obvious, not saying anything as he moved to perch on the coffee table, shifting a packet of cigarettes and several empty beer bottles out of his way.

“Yeah I worked that out for myself.” He regarded the other with interest, scowling as he did nothing to entertain him, not even reacting as he stole a cigarette and lit up. “Fucking hell, you’d think somebody had died.”

There was a silence in which Mizuki swallowed thickly, fingers coming to twist together in his lap, then he spoke, and his voice was so cold, so blank that Sly accidentally burnt himself on his cigarette. “Someone did.”

“One of theirs I hope,” he tried to chuckle, to lighten the mood, but Mizuki’s glare fell on him and if he was a weaker man he would have flinched because it was venomous, even with only one eye he managed to look enraged. He realised in a second that he had been wrong, almost flinching as he realised he was being a dick, more so than normal anyway. “Ah, shit. Well you’re gunna have a kick ass scar now if nothing else, huh?”

Mizuki didn’t appreciate his attempts at lightening the situation one bit, even if he was trying to cheer him up, it wasn’t working. He’d rather have Yasu alive than have a ‘kick ass scar’, as Sly had put it. “It’s not funny, Sly, someone died.”

“People die every day, what’s the big deal?” He asked, and it was his usual attitude, but it struck Mizuki hard and he felt his nostrils flare because he _just didn’t get it_.

“The big deal is that he was eighteen, the big deal is that it’s my fault, the big deal is that he shouldn’t have fucking died, Sly.” His teeth were bared almost in a snarl, because it wasn’t really Sly he was angry at, it was himself, he knew Rib was dangerous, he knew people sometimes died, but he never thought it would be his team. “I should have been able to protect him.”

It fell silent, a heavy sort of quiet, Mizuki buried in his grief and guilt and anger, and Sly feeling awkward and a little bit shitty for acting like he had, though guilt was a new emotion to him.

“You can’t protect everyone,” his voice was quiet and Mizuki finally looked up, one green eye almost wet and the other still sealed firmly shut, livid purple, yellow and black mottling his skin. “Besides, you got stabbed protecting him didn’t you? I’d say you did your best.”

Mizuki swallowed hard, because how was it that Sly was the one person who’d been able to comfort him, even a little? Tio had tried, coming by every day to check on him and bring him supplies until he broke out of his depressed state and got back to living again, other members had dropped in too, trying to help him, but none had stayed long and their visits had left him feeling even worse. Their attempts to alleviate his guilt only made him feel worse, because they didn’t blame him for this, still looking up to their leader as if it wasn’t his fault somebody was dead.

“I guess,” he shrugged, because it was true that the moment he saw the knife, saw the body fall, he leapt into action, determined to protect his team from the weapon, had literally put his life on the line for them and got stabbed for his efforts. “I was too late though.”

“They shouldn’t have brought a weapon to a fist fight, even I don’t do that,” and if Sly abided by that rule, then it said a lot for the one guy who hadn’t, who had used lethal force to essentially secure a bit of ground, some fucking _earth_ , for his team. If that wasn’t a fucked up thing to do, then Mizuki didn’t know what was. “Hurts like hell, right?”

The bartender thought about it for a second, assuming he meant the wound rather than the death, because the pain had dulled a little now, but yeah, he guessed it hurt, just shrugging before he registered Sly’s words better. “Oh, of _course_ you’ve been stabbed…”

“Twice,” he grinned, almost bragging, and Mizuki couldn’t help the upward twitch of his lip because only he would show off about having been stabbed. “I know something that’ll take your mind off it.”

He was speaking before he even took a second to register his genuine tone, not the usual seductive air he gained while trying to worm his way into the bartenders pants, frowning because now really wasn’t the best time. “Sly I swear to God if you so much as try to-“

“Ah” He raised a finger, attempting to frown even as his lips twitched upwards, amused that Mizuki’s first assumption was that he was once again offering to molest him in some way. “That’s not what I meant. Unless..?” He trailed off, as if leaving space for Mizuki to say that yes, he would actually like the sexual favours he just vehemently objected to.

“No,” he answered shortly, and Sly shrugged, because that was what he’d been expecting, not that he was going to stop trying though, he was persistent if nothing else, certain he’d get the fuck he wanted soon enough, it was just a matter of breaking him down slowly.

“I meant drugs.”

“I’m already on plenty of those,” he gestured to the orange tubs Sly sat beside, painkillers, antibiotics, sleeping tablets, mood stabilisers, mentioning the fact that most of the bottles were still full and unopened he didn’t think was necessary, he didn’t deserve to feel better.

Sly rolled his eyes, because really, he said no to sex, now he said no to free drugs, for a bartender and gang leader he seemed to be very dull. “I don’t mean those kind of drugs, I’m thinking something a little more… herbal.”

“Weed?” he asked, expression doubtful, because chain smoking though he’d been, he didn’t imagine getting high would help much, and he didn’t feel much like doing something to ‘take his mind off it,’ that would be an insult to Yasu’s memory.

“Well I’m not going to give you fucking hallucinogens am I? I don’t imagine you much want to re-live it?” Not to mention that they were expensive and he only had limited funds, having sucked two dicks just for the weed he was offering now, enough for a few days but not many, not if he wanted to be high constantly as he always did.

“Not particularly,” he spoke shortly, though he was impressed Sly had thought about it enough to know hard drugs weren’t a good idea when he was in this state, especially since he’d only found out a minute ago exactly what had happened. Maybe he was more thoughtful than he imagined, after all he’d come here seemingly to keep him company rather than to mock him in his weakened state. But then maybe Mizuki was reading into it too much and he just wanted somewhere warm and pleasant to stay for a while until he knew he had to leave and go onto the still cold streets again. “I shouldn’t though, I’m on enough as it is. You can though, I don’t really care, just don’t whip out heroin or something.”

Sly snorted, and Mizuki thought it was at the idea of doing heroin, but moments later he spoke and proved him wrong, as he had so many times before. “I only do that on weekends.”

“Oh well isn’t that reassuring,” he muttered, though he knew he had less than no say in any drugs Sly might take, still he watched as Sly rolled a joint with remarkable ease, lighting up almost immediately. There were dark bags under his eyes and his hands were shaking almost violently, “you look tired.”

“So would you if you lived in a leaky piece of shit warehouse.” The irony of Mizuki being concerned about him didn’t escape Sly, who just regarded the large box of messy medical supplies beside him on the sofa absently, taking in the bandages and sterile dressings.

“Hm,” he nodded, because that was true he supposed, but he doubted Sly was in any position to climb the housing ladder, or even get a foot on it, probably already illegally squatting in ‘his’ warehouse as it was. “Did the sleeping bag help?”

He looked confused for a moment, then pissed off, then just neutral again, face flicking through so many emotions in less than a second, too fast for Mizuki to read. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

Sly it seemed, had indeed come to steal food, explaining with much reluctance that he had attempted to break in the normal way, by climbing onto the bins, jumping up to the fire escape and shimmying the window catch, but had realised the window was frozen shut and had resorted to knocking instead.

“Like a normal person,” Mizuki remarked, feeling somewhat lighter than he had in a while, though he blamed the cannabis in the air more than the light conversation they’d had, though he had to admit, it was nice to talk about something other than what had happened for once.

“Yeah, because I’m definitely a normal person,” his snort was derisive and Mizuki smiled softly, almost reaching his one eye this time, nodding because yeah, Sly was a terrible example of normality by anyone’s standards.

“Definitely not. I guess you took food while I was pissing?”

“You took like forever and I got bored,” he shrugged, and it was a legitimate enough explanation he supposed, he’d already said he’d come for food, if he then didn’t take any it would be suspicious.

“Well I apologise, I kinda got stabbed, I’ll make sure to check with you next time somebody tries to stick a six inch knife into my stomach,” his words were sarcastic and a little cold but he could still feel the ghost of a smile on the edges of his lips, just hoping it wouldn’t fail completely again.

“Stomach, huh? Nasty,” he didn’t look impressed but his words were, sympathetic hiss of air seeming disorientating, obviously false as he promptly dropped his gaze to his stomach as if trying to see the wound though his t-shirt.

“You didn’t know? I thought you would,” he was genuinely surprised, this whole time he’d thought Sly knew and now he didn’t, he was even more confused. For all he knew, he could have been stabbed in the hand or somewhere else far less serious, so then why had he come?

“I could hardly ask somebody could I?” He didn’t sound bothered, but Mizuki could sense a hardness in his tone that hadn’t been there a moment ago, because it must be horrible when people hate you so much they wouldn’t even answer a genuine question. His lips turned into a smirk a second later and Mizuki grew increasingly nervous, because it tended to be just before he left that he attempted to molest or otherwise grope him. “I’m just glad it wasn’t your dick.”

His eyes widened in alarm because Jesus that would be awful, voice emphatic as he replied. “Yeah me too…”

“So can I see?”

“My dick or the stab wound?”

“Well either is good but I meant the wound, unless you want to change your mind on that distraction?” He was joking again. Probably. Maybe. To be honest Mizuki couldn’t tell and it was a little unnerving.

“I’m fine thanks, and I just bandaged it this morning, don’t really wanna take it off,” to his surprise Sly didn’t object, just made an oddly understanding expression and didn’t push it. “I’ll show you it when it’s healed, since you asked so nicely.”

“Hope it didn’t damage your abs.” Another of those oddly worded but utterly genuine displays of emotion, of course he wouldn’t just say he was glad he was okay, or that he hoped it all healed with no problems, he twisted it until it sounded almost like sarcasm.

He chuckled at that, breathy and weak but a laugh all the same, Sly’s humorous concern somehow seeming a lot more genuine than most of the sympathy he’d received so far. “I can assure you, they’re more than fine.”

“You don’t say,” he grinned suggestively, raising his eyebrows and taking an almost appreciate inhale, as if he could somehow smell the muscle, though maybe it was just nice for him to be somewhere that smelt good for once. “I do rather enjoy them.”

Considering he’d seen them a total of twice, or probably only twice anyway, he seemed to have grown quite attached to them, and the ego boost wasn’t unwelcome, it was nice to feel good about something these days. “More than my company?”

“Well they tend to come as a package so, I’d say it’s about equal,” Having his company compared to his body, or just one part of it was unusual, but once again it was the only way Sly would admit to liking his company at all, so he supposed he’d accept it as that. He opened his mouth again, yellow eyes flashing and Mizuki could almost guess word for word what he said next. “Now speaking of packages-“

“Go home, Sly! Let me recover in peace,” he was about to let him leave, then he suddenly remembered something, tone turning annoyed. “And give me back my cigarettes.”

He scowled, but removed the stolen pack from his pocket and handed it over, probably more annoyed at being caught than at having them taken, knowing he could steal more as easily as he breathed, though with how much he smoked even that might be difficult.

“It’s bad form to take a man’s last cigarettes,” he explained, removing three from the almost full packet, putting them into his pocket and promptly handing Sly the rest of the box, expecting the confused expression he got. “Tio’ll bring me a new pack tonight if I ask.”

“Huh,” he nodded, though his expression had turned clouded again and Mizuki really wished it didn’t have to, because he’d been almost pleasant until now, accepting the food only because he was going to break in for it anyway. But the cigarettes, he’d expected them to be taken away, not for him to give them to him in spite of his attempt to steal them without him knowing. He just took one out and lit it, distracting himself with that while his expression faltered for a second, nostrils flaring and eyes crinkling in pain for a second nobody saw and he barely even registered, “I’ll be back soon to see your abs.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll take good care of them til then,” he smiled, raising a hand in return to Sly’s own as he turned and jogged down the stairs, oddly sad feeling following him, as if somehow this visit had once again not turned out the way he wanted.

* * *

 

He didn’t go back to work for another three weeks, partially on the Doctor’s orders, and partially because his depression returned almost as soon as it seemed to have faded, although every day got a little easier. Tio had been running Dry Juice and the regular bartenders had picked up extra shifts to make up for their boss’ absence, tattoos and piercings were rescheduled and customers offered discounts, though most of them didn’t take them. People knew what had happened, so Mizuki’s absence was understandable, though most of them probably assumed he was recovering rather than grieving or wallowing in self-pity, which was more likely.

Walking down to his bar the next day at about two in the afternoon, having called the team together to hopefully give them some of pep talk, or at least reassure them that their leader was recovered and back in action again. He wasn’t even remotely surprised when he saw a shock of blue lying over one of the couches, few early team members leaving a wide berth around the place where Sly seemingly was asleep, muttering to themselves darkly.

It was as exasperating as it was amusing, and he really had to hide his smile because it was just such a Sly thing to do, it was almost sweet the way he looked when asleep, curled into himself. He was painfully aware that this might be the first decent sleep he’d had in weeks as he loudly awoke him, nudging him with his toe, “Really? Fucking hell, wake up asshole.”

“Oh good it’s you again,” he muttered, sitting up and yawning as if he’d just awoken from a pleasant nap in a comfortable bed instead of waking up somewhere he’d broken into, as was an increasingly bad habit of his, and surrounded by at least four men that hated him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well I _was_ sleeping but some dickhead woke me up,” he glared, but Mizuki knew he was faking too, hints of a smirk under his false anger, obvious in his tone, because if he was really pissed off they’d fucking know about it. “You really need to get better security, any freak could get in.”

“I think one did,” Tio muttered from behind him, and even Mizuki grinned at that, because it was exactly what he would have said, and Sly knew that too, yellow eyes drifting to focus on his right hand man and giving him a quick scan.

“Clever, can you spell too?” He asked, and now his voice had that chilling tone it rarely did these days, not when it was just them anyway, sarcasm so biting and almost bitchy that the wave of resentment it received was almost justified.

A different voice responded, and Mizuki knew Tio wouldn’t have been the one to retort. “Probably better than you can, though I guess you have to know how to spell slut so you can get customers,” that was below the belt, though the others didn’t seem to think so, too busy laughing and giving the speaker approving looks to see Sly’s lip twitch just for a second.

“Alright guys, calm down, he’s not doing any harm. He can just fuck off and not come back, right?” The last word was directed at Sly, who knew enough that this was an act for his team to know he wasn’t really banning him from returning, he was too damned kind for that, and Sly hated him a little for it. “Besides, the rest of the team are coming soon, you don’t want to be here when they arrive, do you? Wouldn’t end too well.”

“Bit late for that, Mizuki,” Tio nudged him and he turned to see the rest of them filing into the bar, filling the larger room that led off this one and surrounding the bar, some sending them curious, or even angry looks already. Sly being in the bar as a paying customer was one thing, but being there at random in the middle of the day was invasion of their turf, and they wouldn’t take it kindly.

He sighed internally as he turned back to Sly, raising his voice so they could hear him, he couldn’t be seen as letting him do whatever he wanted, not when he was so detested. “Stay there and don’t be a dickhead,” he paused a second later, tone changing just slightly. “Or I’ll let my guys kick you out, and you won’t like that.”

“You’d be surprised, masochism’s a hobby of mine,” his chuckle at that was hard to hide, coughing into his fist weakly as Tio’s eyes narrowed because they were being too friendly despite their cold words and curses.

* * *

 

His pep talk ended up not existing, he told the team to get comfortable, and they all did, sinking onto the couches and chairs or perching on tables and barstools, some even on the floor they were so numerous.

Only Tio remained standing, twitching nervously even as somebody pushed him forwards into the limelight, looking at Mizuki almost anxiously, bartenders stomach twisting instantly because something was wrong. “We um, held a meeting and, we’ve decided to go after them.”

He was almost too busy watching the streak of blue in his peripheral get nearer to properly register his words, but the moment he did he bristled with rage. “You’ve what?” He asked, and his voice was venomous, pretending he could see the eyes on Sly, now having perched himself on the bar and lit a cigarette, no doubt still wondering why he was there and looking so damned comfortable.

“We can’t let them get away with it.”

“We’re just gunna rough them up a bit.”

Voices filled his head but he couldn’t register any of it, he didn’t understand, somebody was already dead, why did they want more bloodshed? Hadn’t they had enough already?

“Do you know where to find them?” All eyes turned as one to Sly, who didn’t even react to the variation of distrusting, confused and overall disgusted expressions that were focused upon him, just raising an eyebrow as nobody answered.

“No, Sly, we don’t,” Mizuki sighed, and if anybody found it odd that they were on first name basis, they didn’t say anything, just looking to their leader for clarification and reassured at least a little by the harsh way his name came out, more derogatory than familiar.

“Then you’re a bit fucked aren’t you?” He scoffed, and the group rippled with anger, one stepping forwards and voices raising in anger and irritation and overall displeasure, Sly faking a yawn just making them louder, shouting over them. “Who were they?”

There was silence as they looked to Mizuki in confusion, because surely he’d want Sly out of here as much as they would, but they couldn’t act without his say, he’d made it clear before that Sly was to be left alone unless he deserved it, and a dick though he was, there was no need to hurt him.

“Just answer him,” Mizuki’s voice was ice now, silencing them almost impressively, despite his weary, exhausted figure he still commanded his group’s utter respect, and Sly was almost surprised.

“We don’t know their name, but they had tattoos.” Tio spoke up, and of course it was him, Mizuki flashing him a thankful, if not tired smile as he continued, glad he could always rely on his right hand man, even in unfamiliar territory like this, even if he had become the spokesperson for some revenge mob. “Um, a scarab beetle with a ringed planet above it. Kinda green-blue?”

Sly was nodding, lighting another cigarette from Mizuki’s box and not complaining when the bartender raised half out of his seat to snatch it out of his hands with a displeased frown that was of course, mostly fake. “Yeah, I know ‘em.”

All of a sudden the mood had changed, it was like Sly was an old friend, they grinned and beamed and some looked almost blood thirsty, it turned Mizuki’s stomach. The moment he had information to offer them, they suddenly turned 180 and were all smiles and encouragement and ‘I never thought he was all bad.’ They were so fake that for a second he felt genuine dislike for every single one of them, even Tio had perked up when he had spoken, but then he supposed his hate had never been as strong as the others when it came to Sly.

“So? Where can we find them?” Kiko, from behind Tio, a good head taller and regarding him with reluctant politeness, like one might a disgusting old woman selling valuable treasures.

Sly laughed then, a dirty sound that grated on Mizuki’s ears, but it was still a damn sight realer than his entire team was being, like a pack of baying hounds, he flicked ash off his cigarette absently, sneering. “Who said I was gunna tell you?”

The anger rose in a wave and he was quick to quell it, raising his voice authoritatively over them, “it doesn’t matter if he tells you or not, you’re not going after them,” this wasn’t a request, it was a fucking order and they would follow it like they always did, like it or not.

“Mizuki, they killed Y-“ This was Tio again, beseeching, but no, Mizuki would not sit back and watch him succumb to this sick group mentality that revenge was the only way to make things right when it would only make everything worse.

“I KNOW WHAT THEY DID!” He roared, fists slamming down into the bar behind him, even Sly was taken aback, yellow eyes widening imperceptibly as he took in the bartenders rage, watching as he swallowed it back a second later, looking almost ashamed as he coughed and eased himself back into his seat. Fingers white where they curled around the arms tight, he couldn’t stand them telling him what had happened like he didn’t know, like he hadn’t been there. “I know what they did.”

“So let us! We can’t let them get away with it!” Someone else now, near the back and out of sight, voice deep and angry.

“Yes we can. Yasu’s… Dead,” and he had to stop because that was the first time he’d said it aloud, admitted it to himself that he was really gone. “We can’t do anything to change that and going after them will only make things worse.”

“You’re being irrational.”

“Blood for blood!” One voice rose, strong and powerful, and soon others were joining him, murmuring it and nodding, all of them, faces he knew, people he respected, would call friends, were calling for blood and he felt sick to his stomach.

“Do what you want,” he wasn’t shouting, but his voice was so fierce that they all quietened anyway, faces morphing into surprise, as if he’d suddenly changed his mind. “But if any of you lay a finger on them you’re out.” He ignored the snort from Sly who seemed to have stolen a beer somehow and was drinking it quite calmly, cigarette in one hand and drink in the other, surrounded by enemies, it was almost impressive.

“Mizuki, you… You can’t be serious.” Tio again, and the fact it was him was somehow more horrible than if it had been anyone else, imagining Tio, kind hearted, generous Tio killing somebody out of revenge made his stomach twinge and it wasn’t just because of the wound there.

“I am _deadly_ serious. That is not what we do, Yasu’s death was horrible but killing somebody else will do nothing to fix it. You’re supposed to be fucking mourning, not acting like we’re suddenly murderers too.” The group fell quiet again, but this was a sombre sort of sound, feet shuffling guiltily, grief confused for rage and revenge for mourning. He sighed heavily, at least they seemed to have received the message, he just had to hope they valued Dry Juice more than their own need for revenge. Rubbing a hand over the uninjured side oh his face and waving his arm vaguely. “Now go get some fucking drinks or something, the meetings over.”

“Well that was fun,” Sly remarked sarcastically, finishing his beer in one impressive gulp and dropping his cigarette butt into it, using the pretence of handing it cockily to the bartender to lean in close and whisper. “Scarabia, above the old fish factory in the North District,” his voice was low so only Mizuki could hear, and he frowned because why had he told him? He was the one with no desire for revenge, so what would he do with that information?

“Bye dickheads!” He called out as he left, just laughing as they hurled abuse his way and turning to swear at them childishly, dodging a piece of ice one of them threw at him easily, spinning on his heel with one final smirk and leaving Mizuki to contemplate his parting words to him.

Maybe he’d told him because he thought he’d change his mind, if so he didn’t know him very well, though he supposed that was most of the problem, he didn’t.

* * *

 

“I went looking for those guys,” Sly’s voice barely even surprised him, though how he’d gotten into the bar was mildly alarming, his words more of a concern to the bartender than his methods of breaking and entering right now. His expression was stern as he turned to regard him, receiving an overly dramatic eye roll in repayment, “I’m not on your team, remember? You can’t throw me out.”

“I could throw you out of the bar.”

“Yeah but you won’t,” he didn’t even hesitate after he spoke, like it was completely obvious that Mizuki would do any such thing and thinking otherwise was ridiculous. “Anyway, they’ve disappeared.”

That pulled him up short, placing down the large bottle of rum he’d been trying to fit to the wall bracket, frowning as he regarded Sly, who had perched on the corner stool, already stealing one of his cigarettes. “What do you mean, disappeared?”

“I mean they’ve just gone, nobody’s seen them in like a week and their territory is abandoned.” He shrugged, sure it was weird, but this whole island was, so he wasn’t too bothered by their seeming non-existence. “Like they just disappeared into thin air, one woman said.”

“She answered you?” Mizuki’s voice was disbelieving and Sly frowned, because he knew his reputation proceeded him, but some people were at least civil when he asked them direct questions. Not many, but there were a couple who didn’t need plying with sex or drugs first.

“Well I’m pretty sure she was blind so she didn’t know who I was,” he shrugged, using Mizuki’s distraction as he mounted the bottle to lean bodily over the bar, open the mini-fridge and help himself to a beer, pulling the cap off with his teeth.

“You asked a blind woman if she had seen a group of people?” Mizuki was almost amazed at Sly’s stupidity, because had he not seen the fundamental flaw in that logic?

“No, how dumb do you think I am?” He sounded offended, but just grinned at Mizuki’s blank expression, which answered Sly’s question for him. “I asked if she’d heard anything. She said people had been talking about it a lot, how they’d just vanished.”

“Hm, at least my guys can’t beat them up now I guess…” He murmured, but something in him still felt unsettled, not sure what it was, but something about the story unnerved him, because people didn’t just vanish, even on Midorijima. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he glowered, instantly on guard again, because the suggestion he’d do something for anything but his own gain was too disgusting to even entertain.

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Curiosity, nosiness, call it what you will.”

It wasn’t until he was gone, offering no explanation or goodbye, that Mizuki realized those were his own words he’d echoed back at him.


	6. Chapter 6

“Is there any particular reason you’ve been following me literally all day?” He asked, finally turning round to face a remarkably calm looking boy, considering the fact he’d been caught essentially stalking him, he seemed alright with it.

“Nah,” he shook his head and Mizuki could finally get a look at him now he wasn't attempting to hide, he could only be about eight or nine, though he could never tell with kids these days, they always seemed to look and act older. “M’just bored.”

“Then why don’t you find something to do?” He asked exasperatedly, because he’d much rather this child had an actual reason for tracking him, sinister or not, but he seemed genuine enough and he supposed ‘follow the adult’ would make a fun game for a while.

“Nuthin’ to do, this islands shit,”

Swearing never bothered the bartender, but coming out of this small child’s mouth so casually, something about it just hit him wrong and he frowned, because shouldn’t he be in school? His own less than ideal childhood had made him rather soft hearted when it came to the various brats that seemed to roam the streets at will, and he was sure sometimes they knew this and preyed on him deliberately.

“Nothing, huh? Nobody wants somebody to help out for a few yen?”

“Nah,” he wiped his nose on his sleeve, snot smearing up the already filthy material and nose still running wetly, cheek streaked with dirt that might have been there for days and mop of curly black hair sodden and lank with grease. “They say I’m smelly, won’t let me help.”

He wondered briefly whether to redirect this child to somebody else, maybe Koujaku, the head of Beni Shigure a well-regarded Rib team and an ally of Dry Juice, as a hairdresser he might be in need of a helper to sweep hair or the like, and he would no doubt take one look at this child’s greasy, tangled mop and promptly wash and cut it to perfection. If he said Mizuki sent him he was sure to do it, they had to stick together and he’d understand why he had done it, he had a soft spot for the more elderly members of society, and Mizuki tried to help the younger ones wherever he could. But then again it would be a burden to put on him, and he had to admit if Koujaku did the same to him, while he’d understand, he certainly wouldn’t appreciate it. He was just about to attempt to fob him off with money, ¥2000 should keep him in food for a few days, maybe the whole week if he was careful and didn’t just buy crap, which was unlikely at his age, and he could definitely afford to spend it, when the child froze up, staring at something, or someone, behind him.

“Making friends with the local urchins, hm, Mizuki? What a true pillar of the community you are.”

“Sly,” he spoke smoothly, not even needing to turn around to recognise that smooth voice and it’s teasing tone, barely blinking even when an arm draped itself around his neck, just glad it wasn’t somewhere more…. Intimate.

“This one’s mine, beat it kid,” how exactly Mizuki was Sly’s, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d claim to know, but the moment he’d spoken the child had clammed up nervously, street kid or not, Sly Blue still had his reputation.

“S-sorry, I were just messin’ around,” he apologised, scuffing his hole-filled trainer against the dirty ground and looking mildly afraid, as if he had just been caught by a parent, but then Mizuki supposed maybe the kids saw Sly as that, them but grown up. It made him frown to think of this boy, with cute freckled cheeks under the dirt and not quite emaciated yet like Sly was, growing up to be the same cold, closed off person.

“Mm-hm sure, here,” he spoke like he couldn’t care less, dismissively, but he released Mizuki’s neck and a second later a coin flipped past his face, child catching it with almost a gleeful expression. “Go buy candy or some shit.”

“Didn’t know you were so generous,” he remarked as the child scampered off, grin wide, using the normal jokey tone of their conversations to speak even as he was genuinely surprised, realising as he did it that he was picking up on Sly’s habits to hide true emotion and feeling distinctly odd about it.

“Oh come on, even I can spare a measly ¥500 so a brat doesn’t starve to death,” he spoke harshly as ever, but both his expression and voice had softened upon seeing the child and Mizuki couldn’t help but wonder if he saw something of himself in him. If any of his team had just seen that display they’d be amazed he had some kindness in him, they genuinely did seem to think he was pure evil, which was possible for very few people in general, let alone a mere teenager. “I suppose I’m Prince Charming now, coming to save you from the dirty street trash.”

He knew he was joking, wasn’t he always? But hearing a child described as that, even in jest made something in his twist unpleasantly, akin to anger but not as strong, maybe just a sense of unfairness.

“Oh come on, what was he going to do, knife me? Again,” he realised when he spoke that he’d made it sound like he’d been stabbed by a small child before, frowning at how embarrassing that would be and hoping Sly wouldn’t pick up on it.

But of course he did, “you got stabbed by an eight year old? Hardcore.” He nodded in mock amazement despite being fully aware he was in fact stabbed by somebody at least ten years older, but his face hardened a second later, another of those flashes of unidentifiable emotion crossing his face and quickly dying. “But he’s one of the good ones, some of them probably would stab you, specially if you were dumb enough to offer them money, and I saw you reaching for your pocket.”

“They’d genuinely stab me?” His voice was disbelieving, because surely they wouldn’t do that just for whatever money he’d be carrying, which wasn’t usually much, and his Coil was password protected so it would be useless to them.

“Oh yeah, happens a lot, not fatal obviously. Think about it, would you want people knowing you got stabbed by some kid?” He spoke matter-of-factly, and it was the bored way he spoke, as if he was used to it that upset Mizuki more than what he was actually saying, because how on earth could you get used to that?

He had a point, he’d probably make up some story about getting into a fight, or if it wasn’t bad enough, just pretend he wasn’t injured unless it became obvious some other way. He immediately began to wonder about all the stabbings he heard about, and there were quite a lot, absently questioning how many of those had been inflicted by children desperate for money on the very people who wanted to help them. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you, literally in this case since their money would most likely go on food first and foremost, though they could probably beg for food successfully whereas someone Sly’s age didn’t evoke the same sympathy so would most likely get nothing.

“It must be hard though, being that young and being homeless,” he knew the only orphanage on the Island had shut down a few years after he had left, leaving many children with no option but to be dumped by themselves with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Some people had taken them in, but not enough people were willing to and less than a quarter of the residents had homes by the time they closed down.

Sly scoffed harshly and Mizuki frowned, because that was a pretty derogatory thing to do even if you were Sly Blue. “Least they can get money just for being young, gets harder the older you get, who wants to give a shitty teenager money when there’s a cute kid who needs it too?” He sounded bitter, and he had every right to be, his life was really shit by all accounts, and now he even lost out on money he needed to children who probably didn’t appreciate its value yet. “Least they don’t have to suck dick for money.”

“Or fuck people,” Mizuki remarked, because he’d heard that rumour but he didn’t know if there was truth behind it, he knew the dick sucking one was, but as for full sex it was always implied he did it, but nobody knew anybody who had... Indulged, in those services.

His yellow eyes narrowed for a second, maybe trying to work out if Mizuki was judging him, taking a box of cigarettes out of his pocket that Mizuki recognised as his own, strangely missing from his jacket where they’d been a minute ago, and having the audacity to offer him one.

“Yes I’d love one of my own cigarettes, thanks,” he remarked sarcastically, sounding more annoyed than he was, because he wouldn’t even take them back and they both knew it by now, he’d just go to the shop on his way home and pick some up.

“You’re welcome,” his smile was falsely sugary sweet and Mizuki didn’t like it, though he chuckled as he pretended to bat his eyelashes like the girls that clung to Koujaku wherever he went. “But I don’t do that very often.”

Mizuki blinked, because he’d forgotten what they were talking about for a second, watching smoke slide over Sly’s features and soften them for a moment, “what?”

“Fuck people,” he shrugged, exhaling smoke as if they were chatting about the weather instead of the fact he had to have sex with strangers to buy food. “Most people don’t trust me, and they don’t really want to be ‘that guy who fucked Sly Blue’, so I only do that like… once a month maybe?”

“Would you want to do it more?” Mizuki asked disbelievingly, because he’d sounded almost upset.

“Eh, I get more money for it, and it means I get some fun too, sometimes.” He paused for a second and Mizuki thought to the old finger marks that had been on his neck months ago, way before Christmas. “I could have fun with you if you weren’t such a prude.”

He choked on cigarette smoke, because a prude was something he had never been called before and that he quite honestly objected to, “did you just call me a fucking prude?”

“Well you won’t pay me for a fuck either, or for anything, therefore you are a prude.” His logic made no sense, and Mizuki had the feeling he knew that, but whether he cared or was just looking to get a reaction he didn’t really know.

He tried to use reason to stop this conversation, because there was literally no way Sly could talk him into fucking him, paid or otherwise, if he needed money he’d rather just give him it rather than make him demean himself. “You already offer to do that, why would I pay for something I could get for free?”

“Hm,” he held a finger to his chin, tilting his head as if actually thinking, tapping the smooth skin absently before raising the digit as if in sudden realisation. “So you feel less guilty about using _poor, innocent_ little Sly Blue?” His voice was mocking, forcing his face into a playful pout and putting on a sweet voice that didn’t suit him one bit, not lasting long as Mizuki laughed and prompted him to grin.

“Oh yeah, because paying would make me feel _so_ much better. I always say it’s better to break two laws than one,” he nodded firmly, as if stoically standing behind his words, heavily laced with sarcasm they were, trying not to think of the truth behind them. Because really, accepting a sexual favour off Sly would technically be paedophilic and therefore statutory rape, without him paying and bringing prostitution into it too. If he had to choose, and he didn’t even want to imagine why he’d ever have to, he’d rather Sly just do it because he wanted to, for whatever reason, rather than because he needed money. But his issue was that while Sly might actually want to do it, his reasons for it weren’t purely ethical, even if he did have some attraction to him, which he seemed to, at least physically if not intellectually too, he was doing it as a way to pay him back and that wasn’t alright.

Mizuki wasn’t old fashioned, he knew sex was less taboo these days and he’d had a couple of one night stands himself, they were awkward and not actually that good, but he knew sex wasn’t necessarily between two people who loved each other. Using it as payment was still wrong though, no matter how Sly tried to reason it, not to mention he was worried if he caved once he’d end up doing it again and then they’d end up as some kind of screwed up fuck buddies, and he knew from experience that never ended well for either party. One person ended up heart broken and the other was guilty and angry that they’d developed feelings in the first place because the whole point of fuck buddies was to not have any emotions there. Luckily for him, Tio had been such a good friend anyway he’d managed to keep their friendship intact even after admitting he felt more than just friendship, or lust, for Mizuki.

He and Sly were nowhere near that close, but he still didn’t want to risk the odd friendship they seemed to be developing over something as unimportant (in the grand scheme of things) as sex, especially when Sly had nobody else.

“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” and of course, he’d have a way to rationalise that too, Mizuki just frowning as he continued to smoke his cigarette, glad this alleyway was quiet enough that nobody had come across him conversing politely with Sly Blue of all people. “Anyway, you never showed me your stab wound, I wanna see it.”

“Right now? In the middle of the street?” To tell the truth it wouldn’t be difficult to show Sly, he wouldn’t even have to get undressed, just yank his t-shirt and hoodie up and show him the shiny red scar where the knife had stabbed into him, let him see the tiny red holes where stitches had been placed then removed. But he had the unnerving feeling that he didn’t want to see as much as he might to feel, and he couldn’t deal with Sly trying to molest him again, especially when he seemed to use any method possible to do so. It was almost exhausting trying to work out when he’d next strike, without offering him more opportunities to do exactly that.

“Did it go all the way though?”

“It was five inches, how thick do you think I am?” The minute he spoke he realised his mistake, both parts of that sentence, could and would be twisted into sexual innuendo by Sly ‘mind of a twelve year old’ Blue.

“Hm, a good mouthful at least, I’d know if you’d just let me-“

“Nope,” he was so used to this now his response came immediately, in the next breath he took, shaking his head insistently and lips pursing in displeasure. “Told you once, I’ll tell you again, you’re not going anywhere near my penis. Or the rest of me. And I’m not going near you either,” he tacked the last bit on as he suddenly remembered what he’d said in return last time, the bartender would neither let Sly touch him nor touch the other in any manner other than friendly, and he was reluctant to even do that, knowing the other would either not like it, or try and take advantage again.

“Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, knowing that even despite the bartender’s insistence that he wouldn’t give up any time soon, crossing his arms moodily as he threw his cigarette away. “Are you going to show me or what?”

“I’m not undressing in the middle of the street, even for you,” this was more in reference to Sly’s stubbornness than any desire to undress in front of him, though when Sly had broken in to find him shirtless he had been less than bothered about covering up. He did regret that a little now, because before Sly had actually seen him in any state of undress his advances had been less… Enthusiastic, now their genuine and almost lecherous presentation just unnerved him.

“Then we’ll go to your place,” he spoke as if it was obvious, but Mizuki _really_ didn’t think it was, opening his mouth to object as Sly spun on his heel, seemingly headed to his bar and ignoring his yells to stop.

“Oi! Sly, don’t just- For fucks sakes you can’t just- Sly!” His voice grew almost shrill on the last word, tinged with both irritation and, to his horror acceptance, knowing no amount of telling him otherwise would make him change his ways.

“Hurry up or I’ll break in,” he called back, ignoring the sound of his name, eventually ceasing as Mizuki realised that if anybody heard him yelling after him, they’d either assume there was trouble and he’d get Sly’s ass kicked, or they’d wonder something about their relationship and questions would be asked. He guessed his only option was to beat him there so maybe he wouldn’t have stolen his entire fridge by the time he opened the no doubt illegally opened door, laughing self pityingly before breaking into a jog. It was a good excuse to get some cardio, he supposed, murmuring about silver linings as he wished he wasn’t wearing such a thick hoodie, sweating already and the blue head completely out of sight now.

* * *

 

“How, the fuck, did you beat me here?” Mizuki asked, well, panted more like, having jogged or run almost the whole way back to his apartment only to find the door unlocked and his unwanted pest lounging on the sofa as if he was right at home. He knew Sly was fast, but he wasn’t even out of breath and already had a bottle of vodka, one of cola and two glasses filled with ice neatly on the table, not to mention he was halfway through a cigarette and there was a fresh butt in the ashtray.

“Rooftops,” he answered calmly enough, tapping ash into the tray in a way so graceful Mizuki was taken aback for a moment, not quite registering his words and not appreciating the amused eyebrow that regarded his sweating form. He really needed to start working out again, he’d gotten lazy since his injury and it was obvious now as his lungs burned from a run not even half the distance he used to do every morning.

Mizuki blinked, looking up from where he stood, bent double and heaving to catch his breath because holy shit he hadn’t run like that in a while, treadmill pretty much untouched in favour of takeaways and bad TV show and overwhelming misery. Frowning because of course he’d answer with something not only cryptic but also completely bemusing, because what in the hell could he even mean by rooftops? That was not a method of transport, it wasn’t even a fucking adjective, it was as if he’d chosen a random word and said it just to fuck with him, which seemed very possible knowing him as well as he did. “Rooftops…?”

“Mm, they’re so close together you can jump straight over,” he explained, and suddenly Mizuki had a rather alarming image of Sly racing just ahead of him, several metres above the ground and flinging himself over great spaces of emptiness to reach the next building, laughing as he paused, looking down to see his jogging form for a second before he flung himself over the abyss again.

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” he remarked blankly, because once again Sly had said something so utterly surprising he didn’t know how to deal with it, just shaking his head and shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t really upset when he spoke, more mildly irritated, and slightly amused at how easily Sly had fitted into his life, it was bizarre actually. “You know, just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can just break in and steal my shit.”

“I don’t have friends,” he remarked bluntly, opening the vodka and pouring generous measures, not fazed by Mizuki’s eyebrows raising as he continued to pour long after he ever would. “You want coke?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, regarding the bottle of Grey Goose that sat atop the table, thinking he’d take any cold drink right now, even if it was laced with stupidly expensive vodka stolen from his own fucking bar. Rather unsurprisingly, Sly was already pouring it before he spoke, screwing the lid back on and taking a drink from his own, sucking in air through his teeth but nodding as if to say it was good that it burnt. “But you do realise it’s the middle of the day right?”

“What? Too scared to be drunk at work?” Sly was taunting him, he knew that, watching with those yellow eyes that saw all, saw too much, as he pulled off his hoodie and boots, black, form fitting t-shirt damp with perspiration.

Mizuki raised an eyebrow at him, because he knew the taunt was a competition, to see who would break first, whether he would give in and drink, and Sly had the upper hand, because he was not going to be beaten by a sixteen year old. Just shrugging and yanking at the bottom of his t-shirt self-consciously, aware of the eyes on the tiny strip of tan skin he’d inadvertently revealed, determined to not give him any more excuses to ogle him. “I’m not working tonight.”

“So what’s the issue?” He had an annoyingly valid point and he wasn’t sure he could argue against it, Mizuki had nothing to do now he’d done a quick round of Dry Juice’s turf, he had plenty of food in, and entertainment for the night, apparently now in the form of Sly’s company, which he supposed was better than watching Netflix alone. There was really nothing to stop him drinking now, he’d have plenty of time to sleep it off before he worked tomorrow afternoon, and unless something happened with his team, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

“No issue,” he remarked almost coldly, shooting Sly a look he hoped said he understood the game he was playing and that he had no plan of losing to him. “Unless you’re trying to get me drunk?”

His raised eyebrow and dirty smirk didn’t bother the other one jot, just trying to hide his unsurprised smile behind a scoff as he took his first drink and almost choked because fuck that was strong, even more so than he’d expected, coughing and wincing as he put it back down. Sly however, answered calmly, taking a much larger mouthful than the bartender had and not even cringing, almost cocky as he swallowed then spoke, voice lowered and almost a purr, horribly seductive even to the bartenders closed off ears, “what if I am?”

“Then I’ll have to hope I can hold my drink,” Sly’s plan was hardly original, getting him drunk in the hope of lowering his morals so he could finally get what he wanted, the bartender. But Mizuki had been drinking a long time, and had built up quite a considerable tolerance, so he doubted that he’d be that drunk even if they drank the entire bottle between them, especially not if they were mixing it.

He absently thought back to when he’d last eaten, knowing an empty stomach would only make it go to his head faster with less than desirable effects, in his opinion anyway, remembering the cereal bar he’d grabbed that morning, then realising he’d never eaten it. Images of him getting so drunk he either passed out or was sick not exactly filling him with joy at the idea, wondering if Sly would laugh or actually try and molest his unconscious body, cringing at the idea of either.

“You hungry?” He asked, as he would any guest who came over, thinking it was rude to eat without at least asking his visitor if they wanted something, but no doubt Sly take it badly, assuming it was more charity, as if he didn’t come here to steal his food already.

He shook his head, drinking another mouthful, glass already nearly empty and ice clinking, it was a harsh contrast to Mizuki’s, which had barely been touched, foul taste and Sly’s evident plans not exactly encouraging him to drink it down. “Nah,” he didn’t actually look upset by his offer though, just placing his feet on the coffee table and scowling when Mizuki immediately shoved them back off, because he wasn’t having trainers that dirty, or indeed any trainers, on his table. “Stole some Takoyaki earlier.”

“Of course you did,” he rolled his eyes, totally unsurprised by his honesty about his illegal activities and less than morally acceptable behaviour, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the kitchen and eyeing Sly’s now empty glass with only mild concern. “I’m gunna grab some ramen or something.”

“Trying to stay sober?” This was a direct accusation and Mizuki just rolled his eyes as he stood up, downing his drink pointedly and immediately regretting it as it hit his stomach hard, cringing audibly and fighting the urge to throw up, aiming a rather watery eyed stare at him.

“No, I’m hungry,” he objected sternly, because did there have to be a second reason behind everything he did? He was honestly just hungry, stomach beginning to grumble now it had something in it, and something so damn painful too, those noodles were looking increasingly tempting, and he didn’t wait for Sly to respond before he disappeared into the kitchen. Sly for once left him mostly unbothered as he slurped them down, calmly refilling their glasses whenever they emptied, which was worryingly often, and mocking him as noodle juice ran down his chin.

* * *

 

“We might need another bottle,” Sly remarked calmly as he poured Mizuki a fresh drink, shaking the bottle and showing that there was only one drink’s worth left, with his measurements anyway.

“At least steal the cheap stuff, you’ll put me out of business,” that wasn’t exactly going to happen any time soon, but he had a set way he ordered alcohol for the bar, and if a bottle went missing he might end up running low. Having a bustling bar and running out of something as essential as vodka could ruin an entire night, he’d lose customers and his excellent reputation would drop, something he couldn’t have happen.

“¥3000 is a bargain for vodka this good,” his voice was cold as he pushed Mizuki’s drink across the table towards him, as if insisting he drink it, like a hustler in a game of poker pushing chips forwards.

“It’s 7000,” he replied, but he knew what was happening even as he picked up the glass condensation wetting his fingers because Sly had even gotten more ice when it melted settling down on the sofa beside him, tense with expectation.

“Then why did you charge me three?” His fingers were hard on the bottle as he poured a new glass, topping up Mizuki’s a second later as he promptly downed it, something in the air making his resolve to stay sober and in control fading. Sly was infuriating him, because he couldn’t understand him, couldn’t get his head around him and he wanted to more than anything, he felt somehow like he was a puzzle waiting to be unlocked, but he was sick of fixing one thing and it making another worse. Plus there were pieces missing, important pieces that he felt he couldn’t complete it without, several were cracked and he was sure he damaged more with each one he messily glued together.

“You didn’t say anything, figured you didn’t mind,” his voice was cold too, shut off, because if Sly didn’t show anything then neither would he, why should he? Their relationship, because they weren’t friends if Sly was to be believed, was hardly going to go anywhere if he hid everything and for once the bartender was tired of being the responsible adult here. He had the feeling he’d end up regretting this as he sipped his next drink, vodka burning on the way down because it was at least a triple measure.

“I don’t like charity,” his gaze was cold, yellow eyes narrowed as he watched Mizuki swallow, tracking the movement of his Adam’s apple as he drank down the cold liquid, rolling his eyes and making his face harden more, jaw stiffening up.

“It wasn’t charity.”

“Then what was it, what is all of this? Pity? Guilt? You just being kind hearted? Because I don’t buy any of it.” His drink was empty again, glass slammed onto the table and that piercing glare directed at him, stabbing into him sharply. “What do you fucking want?”

“I don’t _want_ anything! Why do I have to fucking want something?”

“Because that’s what people do! Don’t pretend you’re any different, you could have told me to fuck off the first time you met me but you didn’t!”

“You were the one who came back! You wormed your way into my life not the other way around! You broke in and stole my food and crashed on my couch and got in the way whenever you could. I’m sorry if it upsets you that I might actually not think you’re scum but some people are actually decent if you try with them!”

“People aren’t nice!” He was growling now, body tense and coiled with anger where he rose up to glare at the bartender, drink forgotten about now and trying to hide his growing confusion because Mizuki didn’t think he was scum and he had never heard that before.

“Why did you give that kid money? Hm?” He’d changed the subject, still bubbling with hidden anger but suddenly turning this on him, making this Sly’s issue when it was Mizuki who truly had the problem.

“Why does it matter?” He scowled, because this wasn’t about him, he was acting like himself, like he really was inside, it was this bartender who was going against everything Sly knew about people.

“Just answer the question,” his voice was firm, and Sly knew there was no way to escape from his, almost certain already of where Sly was going with this and not looking forward to when he did.

“So he didn’t fucking starve to death, why were you going to?”

“For the same reason, people are nice, Sly. _You_ did a nice thing, how can you say people are horrible when they’ve proved they’re not?”

“One person! One person on this entire piece of shit island has been even remotely nice to me! But like you said, I didn’t give you a choice!” Mizuki was right, he had initially expected to be woken from his drunken sleep by the bartender whose house he’d broken into with a kick to the stomach and be suitably beaten afterwards. But what had he received? Breakfast, polite conversation and an ongoing relationship with this weird guy who should by all accounts hate him, he was a Ribster, and they probably hated him more than most people. “It was pity, that’s why I gave that runt money. Pity! I am not _nice_.”

“Not because he reminded you of yourself? Because you know what it’s like to grow up like that?”

“You know fucking nothing about me!”

“I know enough! You don’t want that kid to go through what you did!”

“I didn’t grow up on the fucking streets, so stop assuming things and leave me the fuck alone!”

Mizuki stopped, because he hadn’t? He was too young to have been in the orphanage with him and Mizuki knew he’d recognise him if he had been, that blue hair wasn’t exactly common, so where had he begun his life? Where had he lived until now? How had he ended up like this, on the streets and selling himself for money, with this horrible reputation and icy personality?

“You know _nothing_ ,” he hissed, standing from the sofa and heading to the door, left unlocked, opening it so hard it slammed against the wall and sent a tremor through the whole apartment. But even that wasn’t as strong as the fire in his eyes, the rage and hate and the pain he constantly hid, visible in his shaking lip and the flare of his nostrils as he spoke, voice wavering and bitter. “You are just like everyone else, don’t pretend any different.”

The door slammed ominously, finally as Mizuki just sat there, stunned into silence and expression only hardening, because shit, he’d really fucked things now and he had a feeling the expression ‘when one door shuts, a window opens’, couldn’t be applied to Sly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sly being amazing at parkour/freerunning is canon don't question me on this  
> Forgot to put in Scarabia's tag art- http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h93/n7myw/Tattoos/scarab3.jpg


	7. Chapter 7

“Sly?!” His polite answering the door expression faltered, falling into a combination of horror and alarm because oh shit what the fuck had happened to him? “You’re covered in blood oh fuck… What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered casually enough, managing a weak glare and trying to pretend like he wasn’t swaying lightly on his feet, blinking hard and taking fluttering breaths that were noisy and almost rasping.

“Nothing to-?!” He began, utterly horrified because how could he be so neutral about this when his entire torso and stomach was bathed in the sticky, congealing liquid. But then his eyes narrowed and he let out a reluctant sigh because it was just like Sly to fuck with him like this, frowning as he spoke, “let me guess, it’s somebody else’s blood?”

He smirked at that, trying to chuckle but only managing a worryingly damp cough, body shaking under the force of it and grimacing as he sucked in a noisy hiss of breath, hand over his stomach gripping harder into his soaked shirt. “Not this time.”

“Then it’s plenty to worry about!” he exclaimed because Sly’s stubborn refusal to accept help wouldn’t put him off this time, surprised when he accepted the hand round his arm and let the bartender drag him into his apartment. “Sit down and take your shirt off.”

He was expecting the stupid comment that came, not even responding as he headed to the bathroom to find clean towels and the first aid kit, just scowling at his complete inability to understand that his health, his life, was important. “Finally, and here I thought you’d never ask.”

“Funny,” he replied blankly as he returned, footsteps faltering as he took in the deep gash across his stomach, a gentle diagonal leading down from just under his bellybutton all the way across to his hipbone, still leaking thick droplets of blood. “Tell me what happened, now.”

His tone was demanding, and Sly knew he wouldn’t accept any more of his clever ways to avoid the situation, biting his lip and rolling his eyes as if this was really a big fuss over nothing, which he honestly thought it was. “Some asshole started a fight with me, got a knife, I didn’t duck in time.”

His eyes narrowed, because everybody knew Sly’s reputation as an excellent, almost undefeatable fighter, so either he was against a group, they were a lot bigger than him, or something else had hindered his ability to anticipate and evade the attack.

“How long ago?” He asked, pressing a towel gently to the skin and trying to ignore his sharp hitch of breath, sucking air noisily through his nose as pain shot up his spine because Mizuki had to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He needed to see the extent of the injury, to know how deep the apparent knife had gone, to see if it needed stitches or whether he could even deal with it himself, knowing the hospital wouldn’t exactly welcome him with open arms.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, but the bartender just pressed down harder and he hissed because he could have sworn he was doing it on purpose, olive eyes not giving anything away as he stared at him unflinchingly, waiting impatiently for him to just fucking answer. “Like an hour? I didn’t fucking time it.”

“And you did what? Wandered the streets like this?” He was incredulous, but he knew that was exactly what he’d do, show off the growing blood stain on his shirt and flaunt it like a soldier might a medal of honor, loving the glares and judgmental stares he’d no doubt receive.

“Yeah, what else was I meant to do?” He shook his head as he spoke, eyebrows furrowed and expression disbelieving, as if Mizuki was the one being stupid here, scoffing loudly as he carefully removed the towel to survey the damage.

It wasn’t deep enough to hit any organs, but he could see white fat where the blood had yet to bubble up again, edges thick with solidified blood and brown surrounding the entire thing, congealed and crusty. He sighed because it was nasty, the edges were clean but it was a vicious cut, deep in an area with lots of things that could be seriously dangerous, even deadly if they’d gotten caught by the blade. It needed stitches, which he knew he was capable of, having done them before on his guys after fights, but usually they were just minor injuries, not huge gaping wounds like this, a good three centimeters wide if not more and at least a centimeter deep. It was verging on the level that he was unable to deal with, but this was Sly, so he could hardly take him to a doctor or even ring his team member that was dating a nurse, it would open up too many questions he didn’t want to, couldn’t, answer.

“You need stitches,” his voice was cold as he moved away, dropping the now permanently stained white towel onto the floor and rooting through the green box to find what he needed, thick gauze pads and a bottle of yet unopened sterile saline solution, turning back onto to find Sly trailing his fingers along the wound. His touch wasn’t hard enough to do much more than sting, but it was the fact his hands were dirty that bothered Mizuki the most, not to mention that he shouldn’t be doing anything that might make the bleeding start again. He yanked his hand away easily, trying to ease the queasy roll of his stomach as Sly’s red fingers glistened under the lights, taking a deep breath because he suddenly felt ill. “Stop that! Do you want it to get infected?”

He took a second to ponder this, watching silently as Mizuki soaked a gauze pad with the clear liquid and set about cleaning the crusted, brownish substance off his stomach and hip, wiping firmly but carefully. He paused every time his stomach contracted with pain or he made even the smallest noise, taking utter care when he approached the very edges of the injury, slowing down his swipes and brows furrowed in utter concentration.

“I don’t really care,” he responded, focused completely on the bartenders face, taking in the heavy set of his brow as he leaned in close to carefully, almost tenderly clean away the streaks of blood, hands warm on his stomach.

“Yeah well, I do,” he muttered, too busy soaking another pad to notice the fact that his breath hitched again even though he was nowhere near, words searing into him so much more forcefully than the knife had, rendering him confused and filling him with the usual urge to bolt.

By the time he was cleaning the actual wound, wiping away the new beads of crimson that bubbled to the surface and apologizing frequently as his breathing grew heavy and pained, actually wincing once, he was beginning to wonder why he even came. What had he expected to achieve in coming here? He knew exactly what would happen, knew the bartender would freak out and try to patch him up, though he had to admit that he’d been hoping the skin contact might lead onto something more exciting, but now he knew that wouldn’t happen. The fingers on his flat stomach made him want to cringe away, moving timidly across the skin as he tried to wipe away a stubborn patch of hardened blood in the corner, barely feeling the pain as those rough fingertips moved to grip his uninjured hip instead.

“Stop squirming or it’ll hurt more,” his words came as a surprise, previously zoned out yellow eyes snapping back to attention and instantly cursing himself for his inattention because apparently his unconscious desire to get away hadn’t remained as hypothetical as he thought. He just glared and turned away, focusing on the door he’d knocked on minutes ago, beginning to wish he hadn’t bothered, he could treat himself in his warehouse easily enough, his stolen medical kit still had enough supplies for this, not as nice as the bartenders, but he could have made do. He always had before, but now Mizuki had come along and ruined everything and he felt so confused he didn’t even know what to do when he turned back down to him and saw him regarding him with his nose creased in concern.

“Sly? You okay?”

“Obviously, why wouldn’t I be?” Of course he snapped, it was automatic by now, and he almost missed the expression of worry the moment it faded into one of annoyance, because he just couldn’t explain the way it made him feel inside when he was so obviously concerned about him.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, thought you might be lightheaded,” his words were reluctant, like he didn’t even want to show any sympathy for him but that he couldn’t help it, he obviously resented his kindness being greeted with such disdain.

“Fine, thanks,” his tone was clipped, to the point and sharp even though the words were a lie because when the bartenders hand rested on his knee it felt red hot and his face swum in his vision, able to register nothing but warm olive. He was saying something, but he couldn’t quite hear, just nodding absently and waving a hand as if to say that he really didn’t give a shit. So he wasn’t entirely prepared when the hands on him grew firmer, flitting across his skin with hard touches and a glint of silver flashing through his peripheral in the second before his vision grew black and he realized with amusement that he was going to fucking pass out.

 

* * *

 

The first he knew Sly was awake was when he cleared his throat, footsteps into the room utterly silent because he was apparently a literal fucking ninja, nearly spilling red hot coffee all down his front but luckily only staining the carpet instead.

“How long have I been out?” He worded it like it was important, and it fucking was, because he’d let himself do something as weak as fucking faint like some girl, waking up in a comfortable bed with sick dread in his stomach because that _wasn’t supposed to happen_. In fact none of this factored into any of his plans, which mainly consisted of getting high, drunk and fucked as often as possible with as little human emotion as possible, but Mizuki was fucking everything up.

“Two days nearly,” he replied, recovering from his shock rather smoothly, half empty mug lowered to the table and tea towel already covering the wet patch soaking into his carpet, offering him a weak smile as he straightened back up. “I was almost getting worried.”

“No need, I’m fine,” and again his voice was harsher than he meant, shoving his worry away once again as if he didn’t secretly enjoy the warm feeling it left in his fingertips as his eyes creased up minutely at the corners, regarding him carefully.

“If you say so,” the smile on his lips was thin, forced, and he only noticed now the bags under his eyes, wondering absently where, or even if, he'd been sleeping while he’d been taking up his unfairly comfortable bed. Managing not to betray the shard of ice behind his eyes as he picked up his mug, wiping the table clean with a tissue and heading into the kitchen, hearing the soft pad of feet as Sly no doubt stole one of his cigarettes. “I suppose it’s useless to tell you not to smoke?”

“Yep.”

“Of course,” he muttered, not noticing the almost vehement yellow eyes that flickered to his back, tracing over the muscles of his shoulders and biceps, raising his voice a second later so he could hear. “You hungry?”

“I don’t need your charity,” he had snapped again, because what did he fucking want? Why had he done all of this? Let Sly sleep in his bed for apparently two whole days, stitched him up, looked after him and changed him into fresh, clean clothes that smelt to fucking good he never wanted to take them off.

“Never said you did,” he retaliated so gracefully Sly almost quirked his lip because he was as smart as ever when it came to clever comebacks, managing to control the urge as the bartender turned to face him. “I’ve got some leftover fried rice, you want it or not?”

There was a moment in which they both just stared at each other, waiting to see who would cave, one pair of eyes irritated and more than a little frustrated, and the others hard and distrustful even as smoke swirled to conceal them. Then Sly grit his teeth together, biting at his tongue as he answered, shrugging as if to say he didn’t care either way when really he wanted to fucking run and never look back, to throw these borrowed clothes back and to never inhale their heady scent again because fuck something was wrong.

“Fine.”

Now his smile was real and it made something in his lungs break, coughing into his fist and swallowing down thick phlegm with only a slight expression of disgust, going back to his cigarette anyway. “There, was that so hard?”

It was rhetorical, he knew that, but as the bartender disappeared into the kitchen and the whir of the microwave began, sound of clattering bowls and cutlery unnervingly homely, all he could think was yes, that was really fucking hard.

 

* * *

 

 

“When did you last eat?” Mizuki remarked, managing to sound somehow calm despite his raised eyebrow of amazement as he watched Sly practically inhale food after a few nervous, cursory bites. It seemed this was normal for him, to start slowly and uncertainly, then to frantically shovel it in the moment he realized it wasn’t going to be taken away and he could genuinely eat all of the generous portion Mizuki had given him. He was almost impressed, though he was concerned eating that much in such a short amount of time would give him stomach pain, not to mention that with his injury he should probably be more gentle in all aspects of life, not that gentle was something he’d ever associate with Sly.

“Dunno,” he replied through a mouthful of sticky rice, piece of chicken carefully clutched in his chopsticks with a bite already missing beginning to slide free, noticing at the last minute and eating it messily, smearing juice on his chin. It looked like he was genuinely thinking about it, and Mizuki wondered how on earth he could not know when he last ate, he understood being so busy you might miss one meal, but to genuinely not remember was almost scary.

“Hm, is that why you lost the fight?” His question was worded politely enough, and he liked to think he didn’t sound at all mocking, but Sly’s fairly calm expression still instantly hardened as if he’d offended him to his face.

“Who said I lost?” His entire expression was stony, mouth twisted into an ugly frown that was almost smug while still managing to be offended, brows lowered defensively and hands hard on his bowl.

He actually laughed at that, admitting to himself he earned the glare he received, but that was funny, chuckling and waving his hands as if to excuse himself, “the thirty centimeter long cut on your stomach.”

“You measured it?” He looked genuinely surprised, raising his hoodie, too big and so warm on his skinny frame, regarding the bandage wrapped neatly around himself with interest, wondering just what the tattooist would do if he unwrapped it to look.

“Not precisely,” he shrugged, because even if he had measured it why would it matter? It was fine now, stitched up and re-bandaged every day so far, checked carefully for any signs of infection and securely closed with thick black thread. “Took thirty-two stitches.”

Sly had continued to eat while he spoke, anger at the indirect insult fading away under the information that the bartender had sat and carefully, painstakingly joined the edges of skin together with more stitches than he had ever had at one time.

“Freaked me out a bit when you passed out though,” he chuckled but it was nervous, scratching the back of his head and running his eyes over his guest as if searching for signs that he was fine now, and not about to collapse into his empty bowl.

“Why?”

Mizuki raised an eyebrow because he really didn’t understand why him going rapidly from awake and in his normal state to being unconscious and covered in blood on his sofa might be a cause for at least mild concern? He really was fucked up… “You looked kinda dead.”

“Hm,” he debated this for a second, because that made it sound like the prospect of him dying had worried him, which would be sweet if it wasn’t so fucking ridiculously unlikely that it made him want to laugh, so he did. “Pity I didn’t, it’d make a lot of people happy.”

There it was again, that stare that he couldn’t explain but made his heart do strange things in his chest, that made his breath stop and him feel so fucking exposed it was terrifying, hairs rising because it was so calculating, as if he could see straight through him.

“Not me.”

Short, simple, to the point and so fucking genuine he couldn’t swallow the saliva that pooled in his mouth, suddenly feeling hot all over and eyes burning even as his brain screamed at him that it was a trick, it had to be, _people weren’t nice_. He was horribly aware of the silence in between them, those eyes watching him so open and warm he felt like he was being sucked in by them and he hated it, hated that he wanted to get closer, to listen to the nice things he was saying and to believe them even as he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t about to ruin everything by letting this smooth talking asshole make him feel like he was worthy of anything, he knew who he was and what he was, and that was less than worthless, managing a frown even though it felt foreign on his lips now.

“I have to go.”

The words came as no surprise to Mizuki, who just nodded and stood to unlock the door, picking up Sly’s bag and praying he wouldn’t notice the extra weight as he shoved it over his shoulder. He did immediately, eyes flitting to his before darting away again as he let an amused puff of air escape his lips, not chapped and torn for once, the benefit of good rest and being taken care of, he supposed, telling himself not to get used to it. He knew what he’d find in the bag were he to open it, first aid supplies, food for at least a week and some clothes, maybe even a few yen tucked into one of the pockets, a packet of fresh cigarettes and the bottle of vodka he could already feel digging into his shoulder.

“Look after yourself, okay?” Those were meant to be parting words, Sly already out the door and back to the other, voice echoing in the empty hallway that led down to the exit he craved, mind pulling him towards it even as some unknown force that he blamed on the genuineness of his voice, of all his actions, made him turn around.

He didn’t know what he was going to do until it happened, stretching on tiptoe and healing knuckles pale on tanned skin, but this time Mizuki didn’t stop him, those expressive eyes just regarding him as always, like he was a puzzle he longed to solve. His large, warm hand even came to settle on his hip, sending a jolt of pain through the bandages he wished was strong enough to stop him as he reached up and kissed him, again. Soft like it had been the first time, like it wasn’t meant to be, like he fucking hated more than anything, gentle and slow and so goddamned warm he felt like it was defrosting something deep inside him.

But the ice settled when he broke away, feel of the bartenders lips moving against his, with his, willing like he hadn’t been so far and giving in like he’d wanted. But not like this, he hadn’t wanted him like this, he’d wanted his heat, his fire, not this gentle warmth that made him melt as a thumb rubbed against his side, not wanting to break away even as his heart rate increased and _oh fuck_ -

He broke away suddenly, missing the hand on his side even as he backed away, lips parted as he stared at the other, unable to meet his eyes, taking in his confused expression, somehow still so fucking infuriatingly, aggravatingly accepting. His cheeks weren’t pink, they were the same as always and Sly cursed himself because why did he want them to be pink? Why should he give a fuck about anything this man did?

“Sly?” Concern, warmth, kindness, everything the bartender was and everything he could never, would never be, mirrored in that one word, making his name sound so soft and so precious and there was fucking bile in his throat.

But he just growled in response, low and under his breath, coming out as an annoyed scoff, angry with himself and angry with Mizuki for letting him fucking kiss him like that, for daring to kiss him back, for touching him like he was fragile when he was fucking stronger than everyone.

This time he didn’t look back, scowl plastered across his face with no chance of fading and door slamming behind him so hard he was certain he felt plaster trickle down into his hair, kicking at the first thing he saw when he was out of earshot and savoring the pain that shot through him. Venting his frustration to the universe in curses and screams at passing strangers, feeling of pride he usually got when people moved out of his way utterly absent as he stalked to his warehouse. He needed to get high, and he needed to do it right fucking now before his brain exploded from all this thinking and he tricked himself into something stupid like believing maybe somebody might like him.

 

* * *

 

 

As he could have anticipated, he was back about a week later, sporting a nice shiny new bruise on his jawbone and just grinning as the bartender rolled his eyes and let him in, noticing absently he was wearing one of the hoodies he’d snuck into his bag.

“Wanna get high?”

As an opening remark it was unusual, and not necessarily enticing either, burgundy brow raising because he wasn’t being serious was he? Mizuki was no stranger to drugs but he didn’t exactly do them often, in fact these days weed was the strongest thing he indulged in, and even that was usually just him chilling on the sofa with a pizza and a joint. But to get high with Sly Blue of all people? He imagined that would involve something a lot heavier than weed and he really wasn’t sure he was into that scene any more, not to mention that getting utterly out of control around him would just be sheer stupidity.

Plus he was already pretty drunk, having just come back from an engagement celebration party he’d hosted in the bar, several shots of tequila and more pints than were strictly advisable burning through his veins. He knew mixing certain drugs with alcohol was fine, party drugs like LSD and MDMA, he’d done it himself before and been fine with it, but he knew some substances did not go well with alcohol at all.

“Um, not… Particularly?” He replied tentatively, but it was worded like a question, because he had no desire to get fucked up, in fact his plan had been the usual, take a stupidly long shower with a couple more beers, order takeout and veg in front of his flat screen with the latest three-or-more-star-rated blockbuster.

“You know, for a bartender and Ribster you’re really fucking boring,” and damn, wasn’t that just another of his challenges? Already drunk, vision blurry round the edges and cocky smirk too self-satisfied as the bartender gave in easily, catching the bottle of rum, because why not mix it up? He threw at him, and he caught it easily, grinning as he cracked it open and took a mouthful. “But I could be wrong.”

He didn’t know why he was unable to say no to Sly, maybe it was his stubborn pride that he refused to be tarnished by a sixteen year old, or maybe it was because he knew he’d actually have fun if he just let himself lose control a little. He didn’t even think to ask what it was as he swallowed down the tiny pill, and that was his first mistake.

 

* * *

 

 

His eyes eased open and he was suddenly aware of how horribly, almost unbearably hungover he was, head pounding and allowing himself a self-suffering groan as he rolled over to stick his face in his pillow, light coming through the slits in his blinds painful. He was just glad it was quiet, opening one eye to peer at his alarm clock and noticing with a pleasant sort of reluctance that it was nearly one in the afternoon, so hopefully he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep. His brow furrowed as he wondered exactly when he had eventually fallen into bed, large amounts of the night were obscured by black smudges where he just had no idea what could have happened. After the third drink and those tiny pills everything had become a hazy blur of colors and rainbow shades and some strange, growing warmth. The pillow was soft under his cheek and all he wanted was to stay there until sleep took him again, but of course life wasn’t that simple and the rest he desired so much just wouldn’t come. Resigning himself to a horrible day of wakeful misery he decided to try and work out what had happened, things returning in fragmented patches like shards of shattered vodka bottle. His mouth was dry and there was some strange but familiar taste on his lips, sweet and rather sharp like a crisp green apple, absently remembering warmth in his lap and figuring with only a small amount of alarm that he’d probably made out with Sly.

Probably made out. With Sly. _Sly._

“Ohhh God…” he groaned, whined almost, because oh fuck he hadn’t done anything stupid had he? So intoxicated already without agreeing to get fucking high too he knew full well he could have done almost anything, including the things he would absolutely point blank refuse to even think about doing when sober. Suddenly the pillow felt suffocating and he rolled over, strange noise catching his attention because it had sounded like a snicker and something inside him was frozen with dread, praying he’d imagined it even as his eyes locked onto amused yellow.

“Morning sunshine,” he smirked, almost mockingly as he regarded Mizuki’s expression, a combination of confused, alarmed and utterly horrified, tapping his cigarette into an ashtray and sitting cross legged on the pillow beside him as if he was meant to be there.

“Oh God,” and now his voice was sheer alarm, short and pointed because oh fuck he must have done something and that was not what he intended to do, trying to tell himself to stay calm until he knew for sure what had happened. “We didn’t.”

Sly just quirked an eyebrow, obviously enjoying the bartender’s distress greatly as he just stretched upwards, and the only relieving thing Mizuki could think of was that at least they were both wearing clothes. He had the feeling if he’d woken up naked next to him he would have had a next level crisis and it wouldn’t have ended well for either of them, or the part of him that had  been considering it lately might take over and before he knew it he’d end up in some fucked up sex buddy relationship.

But then the moment was over and he rolled electric yellow eyes heavenward, smirking softly as if to say Mizuki could calm down, but then it turned nasty and the bartender had no time to brace himself before he spoke. “Nah, I just sucked you off.”

His voice was shockingly casual as ever and for a moment that was all his alcohol numbed body could take in, blinking once, twice before the words sank in and his heart plummeted to his feet because oh god no. His shoulder had finished its noncommittal shrug and he was stubbing out his cigarette before the bartender could even think to be suspicious, to not trust him because honestly he had no real reason to. It was exactly the type of thing Sly would do, lie about it to freak him out for his own sick pleasure, to enjoy the guilt he would feel even if it was unwarranted.

“Y-You did what?” He didn’t even care when his voice failed, blaming it’s crack on his dry throat and parched lips as he stared at his guest with alarmingly wide eyes and fingers beginning to shake on the covers as he eased himself up to a sitting position.

“Sucked your dick,” he repeated, lighting a second cigarette and, as usual, was cocky enough to offer Mizuki his own box, not commenting on how much his fingers were trembling as he took one and lit it with the proffered lighter. “You’re bigger than I expected, it’d feel awesome inside.”

He couldn’t register anything right now, his stomach was rolling queasily and it wasn’t just because of his hangover, head pounding and entire body sore and stiff, achy points in his back groaning as he swallowed and took a drag of his cigarette. Ignoring his comments on his apparently very well sized penis, he narrowed his eyes, watching the other through a haze of smoke and growing dread as the other just stared him down, “you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he gave an almost scoffing laugh as he spoke, smoke washing over his face like a cloud and one eyebrow lowered incredulously. “You were really fucked up, huh? Shame you don’t remember, you seemed to enjoy it.”

“I..?” His voice failed because what the fuck was he meant to say? He’d gone against all his morals, against the personally enforced code he’d put in place for Sly, let a sixteen year old, and _he was only fucking sixteen_ , give him a blow job. Oh God he was a paedophile, willingness of Sly or not, he was, and he felt sick to his stomach not because of the legal ramifications, but because it was a disgusting thing for him to have allowed to happen.

“Oh you _loved_ it, pulling my hair, making all these breathy little moans,” he smirked dirtily, biting his lip and making a small pleased noise that just made stomach acid rise to burn the tattooist’s throat as yellow eyes glazed over. “I could give a repeat performance, refresh your memory?”

“I… No!” His voice grew hard quickly, accepting that it was the truth and knowing that the last thing he wanted was a repeat of whatever had happened yesterday that he had apparently so enjoyed, feeling queasy as he looked down at his hands. Had they been knotted into tangled blue hair yesterday? Had he forced Sly into it or had he been seduced by the other? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember or not, not knowing was horrible but the knowledge of it, the memory would haunt him. “Fucking hell Sly you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” his grin was losing its amusement, he was growing bored of this now, because maybe he’d expected Mizuki to freak out for ten minutes then get over it, to figure that it had happened once, it may as well happen again. He thought he’d fucking remember at least blurry events that had led to him being here, sat on his bed and with the taste of him heavy on his tongue.

“Oh fucking hell,” he buried his head in his hands, because he knew now what Sly looked like when he lied, and he wasn’t now, expression as honest as it could get and growing bored as he just freaked out next to him.

There was the sound of shifting sheets and he glanced up to see Sly sliding off the bed, scratching at his stomach lazily over the still healing wound there, sewn shut by Mizuki’s own tanned hands that he now looked at with disgust. “Calm down, it’s not like anybody’s going to find out.”

“That’s not the point! Fucking hell Sly, I told you no!”

“You weren’t saying that yesterday,” he replied, eyes glinting with growing anger because he might have finally gotten part of what he wanted, but he didn’t appreciate having this thrown back at him as if this was all his fault.

“I don’t know what I was saying, how do I know you’re not just lying?” He wasn’t, they both knew that, but god damn it Mizuki wanted to believe that he was, that he hadn’t let it happen and that Sly hadn’t done it. He could remember how eager, willing, almost desperate he had seemed to touch the bartender in any way he could, wondering if he’d  been as keen yesterday, had he been more than willing? Smirking that dirty smile as he sank down onto his knees and unbuttoned his fly and slid his soft, pink mouth down over- Vomit rose in his throat and he knew he couldn’t think about it anymore for fear he’d actually throw up all over his bed, standing suddenly and ignoring the pain in his head to stalk out, past Sly to the living room. He swore his heart stuttered in his chest as he took it in, the empty bottles on the coffee table and the tiny plastic pack of pills open and scattered across the wood. But most horrifying of all was his jeans, crumpled in a pile in front of the couch and table shoved back as if to make enough room for somebody to kneel between thickly muscled tanned thighs.

“Believe me now?” The voice was almost cold as it spoke up from behind him, walking into the room and, to Mizuki’s disgust, taking a swig from one of the vodka bottles, wiping his mouth dry and gritting his teeth against the burn. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, the evidence was right here, and as Sly shifted to gather up the pills of whatever they were, he could make out bruising on his neck that had not been there yesterday.

“You-Your neck,” he said dumbly, almost stupidly, watching as confusion flittered across Sly’s face for just a second before it morphed into understanding and he straightened up, grinning and moving his hair out of the way.

Oh, he could see the way his mouth must have been on pale skin, red marks raised and bruising already where he must have bitten and sucked the skin into his mouth, because they’d done a lot more than just make out.

“Pretty, right?” He grinned, and his words were so genuine that Mizuki was surprised for a moment, watching slim fingers brush against them almost reverentially before his eyes darkened and he stepped closer, narrowing the space between them. He was so taken aback, so utterly confused and lost and disgusted at himself that for a second he didn’t register the hands on his chest, curling up onto his shoulders seductively, grin teasing as he regarded the stunned man. “So, what do you say? You gunna fuck me now?”

“What happened was a mistake,” his voice was firm but his hands were shaking as he pushed Sly off because he felt sick when he thought about it but oh God he knew he’d think about it too much and his turbulent thoughts were almost killing him.

“Didn’t seem like a mistake when you were cumming in my mouth.”

He recoiled immediately, turning his head away because God he’d said that so matter of factly it made his stomach churn, words so wrong coming out of his young mouth, out of anyone’s mouth. “Oh, fucking hell Sly that’s disgusting,” he cringed violently, lip curling in repulsion because that wasn’t imagery he needed to have, he didn’t need to hear him saying it so casually like he wasn’t bothered, like he didn’t care, like it had been okay to do what he did. “I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

“You were high, you couldn’t have _done_ anything,” he was trying to explain it again, to act like it was all okay, this was okay and they were okay and there wasn’t a brick of cold dread in the bartenders stomach because he’d really fucked up this time.

But he was wrong, he had known what was going on, he was high, really high, but he could have pushed him away, should have, told him to get off,  not let him kiss him or slide hands under his shirt or kneel down and-

“Yeah, whose fault was that?” He cut his own thoughts off sharply because he couldn’t remember any more, it was too confusing, conflicting with his emotions saying one things and his body saying another, brain in such conflict he could barely choose which voice to side with.

“Yours,” his lip was curled up in contempt, because he was not going to take blame for something he didn’t think he needed to be blamed for. ”You took the pills.”

“I don’t even know what they were! Jesus Sly, I know you wanted this but can’t you take no for a fucking answer?” He was already angry with himself enough, but his feelings towards Sly now were on a mad axis, one end was upset and betrayed and damn irritated because he’d been fucking high and that meant any consent he might seemingly have given damn well didn’t count, the other end of the axis he was too scared to even think of.

“Oh relax,” the casual way he was brushing this aside was aggravating, actually scoffing as if Mizuki was making some kind of unreasonable fuss when really it wasn’t _that_ bad. “As if you wouldn’t do it again.”

“I wouldn’t,” his resolve was steel now, he couldn’t even believe it had happened, it was all a light-headed, drug hazy dream that somehow had horrifically accurately solidified into his mind until he could imagine the entire thing from beginning to end in disgusting detail.

Sly raised a slim blue eyebrow, expression almost deadpan as he stared at him in disbelief because some people really were in denial, and it was rather sad, lying to yourself like this, why couldn’t he just give in and admit it. “So if I offered to right now, if I kissed you til you were breathless and bit your neck the way that made you moan, if I got your dick hard then got down onto my knees in front of you, you wouldn’t?”

“Just… Just stop talking,” he spoke through gritted teeth because he was painting a picture he didn’t want to see, a picture he’d never let himself imagine before but now the floodgates had broken and ah shit he could remember it too well. His hand was raised next to his head, palm open, fingers splayed beside his ear and jerking back and forth as if trying to push him away without actually having to touch him. “I’m not fucking listening.”

“I’m going to make you! Stop fucking lying to yourself!” He was angry about this, but why? Why should he care about a fuck? He could get plenty on the streets if he really wanted to, but no, he’d set his eyes on Mizuki and he had ways of getting whatever he wanted, the issue was that normally his desires were less alive. “You’re such a fucking bullshitter! If I stripped down, told you to do anything, to fuck into me so hard I can’t see and grip my throat so it bruises, to pound into me until blood ran down my thighs you’d fucking do it, you know full well you want to and you’re fucking afraid! You don’t know how to take what you want but I’m right here and I’m telling you to fucking-“

His words cut short as Mizuki’s already short temper snapped, disgust boiling in every inch of him as Sly spoke like this, said things most people would never even think, let alone verbalize, disgusting, depraved things, things nobody should ever want.

“Shut up! Fucking shut up!” He’d lunged for him before Sly could register it, hand shoving into his shoulder hard and slamming him into the wall, yellow eyes widening and lips parting to gasp in what probably was more than surprise if his heart rate was anything to go by. His knuckles were white where they twisted into his shirt, keeping him there, because he wouldn’t let him leave now, he wanted answers, he wanted to fucking understand for once what made him like this. “Is that what you want? For me to hurt you? To fuck you like some sort of doll I can do whatever I want to? What the fuck is wrong with you, Sly? Why are you like this? What happened to you to fuck you up like this?”

He’d started off angry, no, livid. Lips drawn back over his teeth and eyes hard like steel, entire face contorted with rage because he’d touched his last fucking nerve and he couldn’t stand to hear him talk like that, to make assumptions about him that were so damn wrong. But now his confusion had seeped through and he was almost sad, verging on pitying, begging for an explanation, for some way to empathize here because he made it pretty fucking difficult.

“Nothing happened! You’re the fucking weird one here! What do you want me to say? Sorry? Because you’ll be waiting a long fucking time!”

“I don’t want you to _say_ anything, I want you to stop this act. To stop pretending to be so hard and so cold when I know you’re not! You’re a fucking human Sly,” his voice was still icy, he’d never heard himself like this and suddenly, almost as if he’d snapped, he realized how hard he was gripping his shoulder, standing over him as if about to hit him. He was upset still, disappointed in the both of them, letting him go with one final push and breathing heavily through his nose, shaking his head as his anger faded as fast as it had come, “start acting like one.”

He didn’t know what to say, that was obvious, lips parted and for once his vulnerable expression didn’t fade away with a blink of his eyes and a smirk, it stayed put and it was horrible to see, his eyes all crinkled at the corners as he tried to speak and failed. He couldn’t even manage to tell him to fuck off as he broke eye contact, gazing at the floor as if ashamed of the show of emotion, exhale painfully shaky as he managed a weak glare, blinking too fast and swallowing hard.

The bartender went to step forwards, to say something, to fix this, because he looked like he was going to cry and he’d be damned if he was the reason anybody cried, let alone somebody as tough as Sly, who would take a lot to break. But then he’d turned on his heel and yanked the door open just enough to slip through, not even closing it behind him and letting in a gust of cold air. He must have heard wrong, he had to, because he swore he’d heard a sob in the second the air between them shifted and the room came back into real time again.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey Mizuki, you get some action last night or what?” The voice was jovial, amused as blue eyes regarded him but his blood turned cold as if he was being accused of something, thinking somehow he knew, he’d seen Sly arriving or leaving,  _he knew, they all did._

But no, he couldn’t, it was just his overactive imagination making him think the worst, he knew Tio, even if he had seen Sly he wouldn’t ask like this, he’d try and be casual, remark that he’d seen him and let the bartender choose whether to bullshit him or whether to tell the truth. Even then he wouldn’t push it, accepting any answer he was given because he deserved his privacy and he knew he had no right to intrude on whatever he might do in his personal time, offering a suggestion to stay away from him if he could, reminding him he was bad news. Bad news Mizuki couldn’t seem to stop reading, wanting to turn the page, to know more, to be there when new stories broke and pale skin tore open.

“It’s rude to kiss and tell,” he managed to joke back, and his alarm was easily masked with appropriate and utterly real embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of eyes staring at him exactly where his hand rested. Putting two and two together and turning to see himself in the mirrored liquor cabinet, glad it was halfway through being filled so he could see the insubstantial, but obvious hickey on his tanned skin. “Well shit.”

There was a hand on his shoulder and the friendly nature of it made him do nothing but cringe as he turned round and tried to hide the bile rising in his throat, the anger, because he had surely known he shouldn’t leave marks, yet he had anyway and it was such a Sly thing to do he was almost amused. “They were brave, huh?”

While the attention was almost completely unappreciated, the careful use of the word ‘they’, didn’t go unnoticed by the bartender, grateful as always for his teams acceptance when it came to things like his sexuality, just glad he didn’t have to correct them when they assumed it was a female he would have taken to his bed. He couldn’t hide a smirk though as he thought Sly wouldn’t be very brave after he kicked his head in, though of course he knew he’d never do that to Sly or anyone else.

“Yeah,” he scoffed, deciding to make a joke of this, because that was what his life had become, one massive fucking joke where the punchline was a jail sentence or utter isolation from everybody he knew and loved, probably both. “Guess they didn’t know it’s a crime to harm Dry Juice’s leader.”

He was joking of course, he got hurt in the line of duty plenty of times and Tio knew that, but he respected him enough to understand that he wanted the topic of conversation dropped, laughing along but resuming his task of restocking the mini-fridges. Mizuki couldn’t tell why he’d asked, was he genuinely just teasing him? Or was he secretly wanting to know who the bartender felt deserved a place in his bed when he’d been thrown out long ago now, the agreement to just be friends and ignore Tio’s feelings bubbling between them whenever things like this happened, guilt filling Mizuki’s chest as he excused himself to stock take in the back room.

 

* * *

 

They were laughing, talking and joking as usual, always such lads when they got together, pretending they weren’t all big softies when they were at home with their significant others or buying bouquets of flowers because they were all sweet at heart. That’s why he’d picked them after all, despite the way it seemed to outsiders, he didn’t just let anybody join his team, they were carefully selected and went through a rigorous if not obvious initiation over the period of up to three months. First they had to show interest, other than Tio, who had been the first member and an obvious choice as his best friend, they had to come to him and him alone to express a desire to join, to be part of this strong team and family. That was the second thing, they had to understand that Dry Juice wasn’t just a Rib team to any of the members, it was a family, a close knit group of friends who relied on each other even outside of their group activities, developing friendships and making strong, unbreakable bonds.

The third stage was an introduction, letting them come along to meetings and on their rounds, inducting them to who they were and what they did, watching their interactions and judging whether they were there for the right reasons, making sure they weren’t just joining for status or power. Only some passed this, and some didn’t even get an invitation to this, sometimes people would come to him and ask to join, and if he immediately sensed anything but genuine interest he would turn them away with a friendly smile and an apology that they usually took well but some didn’t. He wasn’t willing to let people join his family unless they wanted to be a part of it too, rough people, or rude ones just wouldn’t fit in and he didn’t want to cause any rifts that could break them apart.

He was hazing in someone right now, a rather quiet guy he had seemed at first, but now he seemed to have warmed to them, still nervous but managing to fit in well with some of the other less central members, he was pretty funny despite his timid nature and they took to him almost immediately. A few drinks and increased confidence and most of them loved him, joking together and bantering almost like he had always been there, sat crowded around a table not really meant for six large guys, shoulders squashed together but none of them really minding.

He couldn’t help but smile as he looked over, because this was what he’d always wanted, his bar, his life, filled with people who were important to him, who, even if they’d never admit it, loved each other and being part of something this special. Shooting Yuu a grin when he looked over and only growing more certain that he’d let him join officially soon as he smiled back, shy under the direct attention and not yet realising that Mizuki was no more special than the rest of them. New members or recruits still in the initiation stage were often wary of him, maybe thinking he’d be like the leaders of other groups, distant and official, placing himself as the boss and making sure everybody knew that by using his power so they feared him. But he hadn’t made this team to get slaves, he’d made it for friends, and he was more than willing to befriend each new member as much as he could, sometimes he didn’t even especially like certain members, but the others did and they were friendly enough, so usually he’d put it to a team vote too.

He knew already, as he approached the group and heard the tone of conversation change to one less jovial and more serious that any vote he’d hold would be answered with a resounding yes. Then it would be time for the final stage, Mizuki himself would tattoo their tag art on Yuu somewhere, wherever he wanted, as big or as small, he’d be assigned duties and he’d officially be a member until he decided to leave for whatever reason. They’d had a few people quit recently, one was now married with a child and had to hold down a job, a few just said they were too old for it, and a couple had found things they found more fulfilling, partners or jobs and had left. He was always sad to see them go, they all were, but they knew they were more than welcome to re-join or just visit whenever they wanted, keeping a firm friendship with them even after they moved on.

But the warmth inside his chest faded slightly, flickering like a lighter in the wind as he began to catch snippets of their conversation that he wasn’t sure he much liked, deciding to hang back and drink his beer, wanting to see where this was going.

“Did you see him?”

“Yeah, he looks like shit man, well, more than usual.” There was laughter at this, and while they might be a gang of sorts, Mizuki was always quick to ensure they remained the good people they had been when they joined, sure they wouldn’t be talking about any of their fellow members but still not liking the almost bullying tone of their words.

“Maybe somebody finally tried to kill him…”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, he does enough to tempt people, I’m surprised no one’s tried before.”

“Those black eyes though, they really messed his face up, his arms are all bruised too.”

“Maybe he got raped or something.” He really frowned at this because whoever they were talking about they really didn’t like and there weren’t many people on the Island so universally hated, in fact he could only think of one and he swallowed hard, thinking of yellow eyes damp with angry tears he refused to let fall.

“Oh come on, as if he wouldn’t love it.”

More laughs, dirty and harsher than he would ever want them to sound, clearing his throat and noticing the eyes on him, still amused but slightly stilted as if knowing Mizuki wasn’t going to be happy with what they were discussing.

“What you guys talking about?” He asked, friendly enough, draining his beer and accepting the stool Ken abandoned as he checked his coil and announced with alarm that he was late to meet his girlfriend, accepting the slaps on the back he was given as he smiled apologetically and waved his goodbyes.

“Nothing much,” Kouhaku shrugged, having the grace to look a little sheepish. “You haven’t see Sly Blue lately, have you?”

As usual the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with nervousness, always afraid they’d somehow found out and everything he’d worked so hard to build would collapse under him and he’d be left alone again. Managing a neutral expression as he peeled the label off his bottle in messy strips, shaking his head, “no, why, what’s he been up to this time?”

There were shared smiles at this, though Yuu didn’t look too amused, biting his lip and watching where the bartenders hands balled the paper up and played with it almost anxiously, olive eyes blinking as he noticed he was being watched.

“He looks a mess, he was in Amaidesu the other day,” there were noises of mild confusion and he smiled awkwardly. “The bakery my mom owns, he was trying to steal food or something.”

“Yeah, what’s new?” More laughs, as if it was funny that he had to resort to stealing food just so he wouldn’t starve to death, luckily all too distracted to see Mizuki’s lip twitch unhappily at their callousness. He knew nobody appreciated being stolen from, but people refused even to give him stale stock or things nobody would buy, so what did they expect him to do? Remain a law-abiding citizen and starve to death? It was cruel that nobody tried to understand why he did what he did, why he had to resort to theft.

“Mm, well I was helping out when he came in… He looks awful, one of his eyes all swollen shut and the other one nearly as bad, there were bruises all around his neck and his arms were bad too. I dunno, mom said maybe he got badly beaten up but I don’t think that’s it.”

“How come?” he tried to remain neutral, as if he were merely curious to hear the gossip about Midorijimas least wanted and there weren’t snakes twisting in his gut because if his injuries were so bad people had noticed, they must be awful since he was never exactly uninjured to begin with.

“He was limping, and there was blood on his jeans…” He paused, and he was the only one who seemed genuinely concerned, frowning as he gestured vaguely to the area he meant.

“There’s a rumour going round that he got gang raped,” Kouhaku again, looking at least mildly displeased with the idea, voice uncomfortable as he spoke, because even Sly didn’t really deserve that, nobody did. “By another Rib team.”

His frown was acceptable now and he felt like he was going to throw up, trying not to imagine it, to imagine Sly trying to fight his way through a group of people only to be beaten so badly he couldn’t escape and just had to lie there as they- “Like Scratch?”

Of all the other teams on the island, the only one he could think that would do something so horrible would be Scratch, a team of escaped prison convicts led by a huge, intimidating man named Mink who nobody knew much about. There was no way, in Mizuki’s mind at least, that any other team would do much more than maybe rough him up a little, and never to the extent Yuu was saying he seemed to have been.

“Probably,” he shrugged and the rest of the group made mild noises of displeasure, they all hated what groups like Scratch did to Rib’s reputation, because that wasn’t what it was about for them, and as the largest group they had the most right to say what it should be. “Poor bastard, he probably asked for it though.”

There it was, his sympathy, mild though it was, immediately covered up with a jab at him that he felt he had every right to be irritated by, even if he didn’t consider Sly a proper friend he knew rape was no laughing matter no matter what.

“Don’t joke about things like that, you might not like him but it’s still not funny,” his tone was firm and he was just glad they were nice enough guys to look at least a little guilty, knowing Mizuki’s rule was final, and if he said they couldn’t laugh at it, then they wouldn’t. Their muttered apologies were good enough for him, and he quickly changed the subject, unable to get the bitter taste out of his mouth despite the mood rapidly improving again as they moved on to nicer subjects.

 

* * *

 

“You still want to join, right?” He asked, knowing what the answer was going to be but needing to be absolutely certain before he let this meeting happen, if he had any doubts he shouldn’t be officially made a member yet until they were all gone.

His smile and nod were nervous but his expression was earnest, “yeah, I really want to.”

“Awesome! Well the guys are all here now, so we’re going to put it to a vote, but I’m pretty sure it’ll go in your favour.”

He looked even more nervous now, face pale and bartender’s enthusiasm not infecting him, swallowing thickly and playing with his fingers uncertainly, “you- You think so?”

His expression softened, because of course he was nervous, anybody would be, he’d been accepted into the group, begun to make friends and now all that hung on a vote to decide whether they genuinely liked him or had been pretending all this time. He’d be scared too, but he knew full well that if his guys didn’t like somebody, they would never pretend to, they might be rough sometimes, but they weren’t cruel. “Positive, now come on, they’re waiting for us.”

It was like walking him into the lion’s den, the reassuring grins he received doing nothing to settle his nerves as the large group gradually fell silent under Mizuki’s presence, turning to face them and conversations dying out as they got to the point of them being here.

“Okay guys, you all know why we’re here,” his grin was genuine and the apparent horror of Sly’s situation was in the back of his mind for now as he regarded everyone, together for the first time since Yasu’s death, trying to ignore that too. He clapped Yuu on the back and tried not to laugh too hard when he flinched in alarm, embarrassed with all the eyes on him as he stood beside the team’s leader in front of the bar. “Yuu’s been with us for a couple of months now, seeing how he likes things with us, and it’s time for us to decide if we want him to become an official member and a part of Dry Juice.”

They were giving him their full attention, and he quietly wondered whether all this was really necessary, they looked excited just at the prospect of him joining, and he was certain that when he asked all hands would raise in unison. The only person who didn’t seem to believe that was Yuu himself, but then he supposed having your character judged like this was an unpleasant situation already without being as shy as he was.

“Okay, so you guys know the drill, raise your hands if you-“ His words were cut off by a crash from the apartment above, eyes flickering upwards and people beginning to mutter, some even rising from their chairs with suspiciously narrowed eyes. Oh fuck, he knew exactly what it was, or rather who it was, cursing Sly’s timing because only he would break in while the entire team were assembled in the bar below, but it almost sounded like he might have collapsed and right now he was more worried for him than he was himself. His alarm was quickly diverted, thanking God for quick thinking as he chuckled uncomfortably, “there goes that shelf I hung…”

Luckily for him, his atrocious DIY skills were well known, shelves he’d installed in the tattoo studio having fallen down after only two days of being up and sending expensive supplies toppling to the floor. Tio was the first to laugh, having re-hung the shelves last time and instructed, more like ordered, Mizuki to never attempt anything like it again, “DIY is not your strong point.”

He laughed, because that at least was true, but there was fear in his heart because if the team found Sly upstairs they’d either beat the shit out of him or Mizuki would suddenly be the one under fire, sheltering him was hardly seen as a good thing to anybody else. “Sorry guys, I better go make sure nothing’s damaged.

“Um… Do you want me to come with you? How do you know it’s the shelf?” He had a feeling Tio might object, he knew when Mizuki was lying and it was obvious now in the way he waved him away casually, raising an eyebrow as if to say that it was obviously the shelf.

“Nah its fine, can you do the vote for me? I’ll be like ten minutes tops,” he asked, knowing he’d agree perfectly happily and that the rest of the guys wouldn’t mind, he was Mizuki’s right hand guy for a reason after all, just smiling as he nodded reluctantly. His grin faded the second he got to the top of the stairs though, making sure to lock the apartment door behind him just in case one of them got worried and came looking for him, taking in the blood-stained shirt on the floor and frowning. Questions answered as he heard the shower start up and some of his tension relieved because who other than Sly would break into his house just to use his shower?

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do, whether to try and speak to him and at least warn him to stay quiet so he wouldn’t get the entirety of Dry Juice on his back or Mizuki in a shit load of trouble, or whether to leave it and pray he’d be quiet. In the end he went for a note, scratching it out messily and leaving it in front of the bathroom door where he was sure to see it, ‘my entire team is downstairs, be quiet, do whatever.’ By ‘do whatever’ he meant eat his food, steal his booze and basically do what he normally did, not entirely sure why he was giving him permission but doing it anyway, the last thing he wanted was for him to come downstairs.

 

* * *

 

“So what did we vote?” He asked the moment he walked back in, although the happy buzz of conversation was answer enough, grinning wide and hopefully realistically as he took in the joyous scene. Accepting Tio’s hand on his shoulder and just laughing at his raised eyebrow because it was obvious what they had voted, Yuu already being welcomed into the fold and looking far less terrified than he had before Mizuki went upstairs and discovered Sly.

“Yuu, get over here.” He was able to return his smile easily enough because he looked genuinely happy as did the rest of the team, and that was what he’d always wanted for them, for himself, just to be happy together. Working his way between the team, almost falling under the force of one aggressive pat on the back, ending up stood in front of them with a permanent smile and an almost disbelieving expression. His smile was warm as he planted a hand on his shoulder, gripping firmly and feeling a sense of pride in his chest at how far he had come in just a couple of months with them, knowing his guys were a really good bunch and glad Yuu could join them. “Congratulations on passing the vote, Yuu. You just need your tattoo now and you’ll be a proper member.”

“I booked him an appointment Thursday,” Tio interjected, grin wide as he regarded the two of them and the others, always excited when they got a new member and it was made official, success of a good vote raising high spirits amongst them. “How’s the shelf?”

“There’s shower gel all over the floor but its fine,” he answered absently, that wasn’t what he wanted them to focus on, deciding to leave Sly to his own devices and celebrate their newest member the old fashioned way, with a toast and a night of getting stupidly drunk. “Alright guys, bar’s open, grab a drink so we can toast our newest member.”

The scramble for the bar was rather expected and he laughed as Yuu’s face paled slightly, just pushing him into the throng and not surprised when he was the first to emerge, beer nestled in his hand and two of his closest friends trying to trap him in playful headlocks. The others quickly organising themselves, handing out glass bottles and cracking cans of whatever they fancied, mainly a beer and cider drinking group though Mizuki knew later on the shots would come out in force and at least a couple of them would end up being sick or carried home.

But eventually they were all sorted and he and Tio were the last to grab drinks, popping the top off his icy bottle with a grin and raising it in Yuu’s direction, noticing the pink flush of his cheeks as the attention was again placed solely on him, friends nudging him only making it worse.

“A toast to our newest member, Yuu,” he didn’t even need to look to know everybody else’s drinks were raised too, joined in a gesture of solidarity, the traditional toast to their new members, a way to express how happy they were with their new family member. “Welcome to the team.”

Their voices spoke as one, raising drinks skyward, boy in question seeming rather emotional about the whole thing, slightly damp eyed even as Mizuki shot him a friendly wink, well prepared for the sudden madness after the moment of stillness. Kouhaku breaking it first, letting out a loud whoop and the others quickly following suit, bar filling with cheering and whistles and any other noise of joy they could make, Tio just nudging Mizuki and raising his eyebrows as if to say, here we go, it’s going to be a messy night.

 

* * *

 

Drinking til 3am wasn’t something he indulged in often, but tonight he was being careful, making sure he was still in total control even as his entire team got fucked up around him, laughing along with the others as they acted like morons or started impromptu card games that never went anywhere. At 3.27, with Yuu almost unconsciously drunk, he decided to call it a night, making sure somebody was taking him home to his mother and seeing everyone else out, watching as they climbed into taxis or staggered off in small groups, singing and yelling even now. Calling goodbyes to the last guy to go, then when he was sure all was safe and everybody was okay, he headed back into the bar to survey the mess. There was vomit on the floor by the sofa, courtesy of Yuu, who’d been handed shots and drinks all night, as was also tradition, finally having had far too much and emptying his stomach onto the floor, luckily tile and easy enough to clean, though Mizuki still wasn’t looking forward to it. Bottles and cans and shot glasses littered every available surface and several lingered under tables and chairs, rolling about where his feet accidentally hit them as he headed to the bar itself. Sticky puddles of luminous alcohol were gathering fluff on the counter and there were still opened bottles of everything ranging from vodka to cream liquor and absinthe, lids lying round with no sign of which bottle they belonged to.

He sighed as Tio headed over, offering him a pat on the back he felt he needed and beginning to try and identify the correct lids by means of trial and error, everything else could wait but he wanted to at least ensure it would stay fresh enough for customers the next night. He worked quickly enough, alcohol just the mildest buzz in the back of his head, fingers nimbly screwing lids back on and finding a cloth to wipe the sides of bottles where sugary liquid had spilled in gungy trails. He knew where everything went on the shelves, of course he did, he’d been working in the bar for years now, finding the empty spaces and sliding them back into place neatly, taking the last bottle from Tio’s hand with a quiet thanks.

But Tio paused as he turned back from his task, giving him a concerned look, seemingly pretty sober too, “is everything okay? You seem… Distracted.”

He waved him off, smiling reassuringly though inside he felt nothing but nervous, knowing Sly could well still be upstairs and he’d have to face him and his rumored injuries, “nah, I’m good man. Bad shit’s been happening lately, y’know?”

“Hm, I guess so,” he nodded, biting his lip, because the disappearances had been continuing and most people were growing nervous now, like a shadow was hanging over the island they were powerless to escape. Nodding finally as he headed to the door, not seeming completely convinced but letting it slip, because they were friends but he knew full well Mizuki didn’t have to tell him everything, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mm-mm, see you.” The door closed and locked behind him, he felt like he could finally breathe, anxious to climb the stairs and see what might wait for him there, if anything, maybe Sly would already have left, but he doubted that.

Each step felt like he was walking to his doom, feeling cold dread grow in the pit of his stomach as he got his key out of his pocket and placed it in the lock, hesitating for a second to gather himself because oh God, if the rumours were true, the bad ones, he didn’t know what he’d do, what he  _could_  do.

 

* * *

 

As anticipated, he was still there, TV turned on albeit quietly, surprised he’d actually listened to him and stayed quiet despite the noise there must have been coming from downstairs, face turned towards the set and damp hair dripping onto his oversized hoodie. His knees were tucked into his chest and he rested his chin on them, curled up small as if trying to be invisible, hands wrapped around the handle of a mug, steam trailing into the air as he raised it to his lips, fingers tracing along the design almost as if trying to comfort himself. He hadn’t noticed the bartender, eyes focused on the screen which showed some unknown programme, though he didn’t really seem to be paying attention and Mizuki wondered why he was still there, crumbs on the coffee table and bread crusts showing he’d already taken some food.

He was about to speak, though he didn’t know what he’d planned on saying, but Sly beat him to it, having apparently heard him come in but remained silent. “Good party?”

“Mm, it was okay,” there was something oddly domestic about this, like coming home to a boyfriend and being asked about your day, though he ignored that comparison and kicked off his shoes instead, putting them onto the rack. He was concerned that the other still wasn’t facing him, just emptying his mug and lowering it onto the coffee table, cigarette he hadn’t noticed glowing red in the dim light as he took a drag, hair concealing his face and whatever state it was in. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His words were aggressive but his tone wasn’t, strangely stilted as he tapped ash from his cigarette into an ashtray balanced next to him on the sofa arm, actions normal but something about the whole thing was wrong.

“No reason,” he lied, stretching and wondering how Sly would react if he just demanded to see his face, or even more temptingly, just strode over and tipped his chin up, moving the blue hair out of the way so he could see if his team had been overreacting or if he was really that fucked up.

“Hm,” it was a laugh, soft and more like an amused huff of air than anything, next drag deliberate and slow as he tucked his hair behind an ear, shadows showing nothing more than darkness that could be bruises but could also be nothing. “I’ve heard the rumours too, pretty funny, huh?”

“Not really,” each step was carefully timed, moving forwards to sit on the coffee table in front of him and frowning as he just hid his face behind his knees, pulling his hood up so it fell down to his nose and concealed whatever emotion he was showing. “Show me.”

“Show you what?” His tone was growing colder but why was he here if not for sympathy, or some other fucked up thing Mizuki couldn’t identify, he was here for a reason, and it wasn’t just a shower or he would have left hours ago.

“Sly,” he wasn’t asking now and there was just a second of stillness before the other sighed, small and not as irritated as it should have been, extinguishing his cigarette and shaking his hood off, keeping his head tilted down for a second before looking back up.

His eyes were averted, or the one that wasn’t swollen shut was anyway, almost cringing at Mizuki’s gasp, because he just couldn’t hold it in, staring at his horrifying injuries with a combination of disgust, shock and sympathy because holy shit somebody had really made a mess of him. His black eye was obviously new, red and shiny and more swollen than he thought he’d ever seen before, a deep, curving cut underneath just beginning to scab over and bruising spreading onto his cheekbone and nose. His lip was split, but then it nearly always was, skin thick where it scabbed black and threatening to open again were he to open his mouth too wide or attempt a smile, there was a red graze across his jaw and cheek like he’d been smashed against a wall. He swallowed thickly and averted his eyes from his, finding the bruises on his neck Yuu had spoken of, they looked horribly like finger marks and he had the horrible feeling that if he rolled the sleeves of his hoodie back he’d find the same around his wrists.

He wasn’t really thinking when he reached forwards to move his hair off his neck, taking in the hard purple marks that stretched around the skin, over his windpipe and curling round each side like an ugly necklace. He didn’t flinch away as he’d expected, able to feel his fluttering pulse for a few seconds before he exhaled shakily and shifted backwards, yellow eye finally meeting his, white streaked with red where blood vessels had burst.

“What happened?” He moved away, knowing he needed space and thinking with growing dread that he understood why, that maybe the most horrible rumour of all was in fact the one that was tinged with some truth, horrifying truth. His voice was soft and god he just wanted to reach out and touch him again, to rest a hand on his knee or hold his hand, to offer him some comfort but he knew he didn’t want it, couldn’t accept it, so he kept his hands to himself.

“Nothing, why does something have to have happened?” Colder, icy, prickling against his skin as he frowned and his nostrils flared because how was he so distant even now? Sat here on his sofa with enough wounds to bring most people down, still acting like he was fine, like he wasn’t here for a reason, like everything was peachy.

“The rumours, are they true?”

He shrugged, eyes focused on the cigarette he lit and stuck carefully between his lips, flinch almost unnoticeable as it hit the split and stinging pain ran through him, “some of them.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wanted to know which ones were true, had he just been beaten up? Or had he really been raped as people had been saying? But then maybe what happened wasn’t the most important thing, maybe he just needed to make sure he was okay and be there as a soothing, friendly presence if nothing else. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He sniffed, raising a hand covered in grazes to wipe his nose and shaking his head, “just bruises.”

He sighed, long and tired, because even if physically he didn’t feel he was hurt that bad, he could tell he wasn’t happy, fingers shaking even more than usual as he dragged on the cigarette in his lips and expression worryingly blank. “Okay, you want to stay here?”

He paused to consider this for a second, bloodshot eye locked on his burning cigarette, watching as the flame slowly ate through the paper and smoke curled into the air, chewing on his cheek. “Mm. Just for tonight.”

“Okay, come on then, it’s late,” he stood up, almost offering him a hand as he would a child but managing not to, just making sure he was following him as he headed into his room, flicking off the TV on the way. He expected him to complain, to say he’d just meant the sofa, but Mizuki wasn’t about to let him just crash on his uncomfortable couch when he was in this state no matter what he might say. But he just followed silently, hiding in his hoodie and hands lost in the sleeves that wrapped around his middle, standing in his bedroom as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing or how he had arrived there. “Need pyjamas?”

He just shook his head, as if shocked out of his stupor, hesitating for a second before pulling his hoodie over his head, revealing an equally oversized shirt that Mizuki recognised as one of the ones he’d given him a while ago, snuck into his bag. His jeans were obviously far too big, secured with a belt that was almost double wrapped around him, sliding them down skinny legs speckled with black and purpling splashes of bruise and dumping them on the floor, shirt hanging down to almost completely conceal his boxers. Somehow he looked a million times smaller now, arms wrapped round himself tightly and all of his usual strong shell gone completely, hiding a yawn badly and frowning constantly.

He looked confused for a second as he watched Mizuki pull the covers back, switching on his bedside lamp and twisting it so only the dimmest light filled the room, “I’ve got some stuff to do, get some sleep, okay?”

He expected arguments instead, but after a second where it looked like he was going to object, his growing annoyance faded and he just nodded, ignoring the fact that they both knew Mizuki was lying and deciding he was too tired for this. He pretended there weren’t eyes on him, that he wasn’t accepting charity, that he hadn’t basically asked for it himself as he climbed into the bed, sitting up against the pillows and pulling his knees in close again, one yellow eye flickering over the tanned man’s face.

His smile wasn’t returned, but then he didn’t expect it to be, shutting off the main light and sending long shadows across the room, pausing for a split second before he shut the door to watch him curl into the bed, in foetal position and taking up such little space you could almost miss him as he pulled the covers up to his ear.

He didn’t sleep much that night, he sat on the sofa for a long time, watching as the sun came up through the curtains and thinking, trying to work Sly out for the millionth time and just coming back with a blank. It was nearly 5am by the time he slipped into bed too, moving quietly so as not to wake him and watching the way the light softened his features for far too long, sighing heavily as he finally closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep. Too much had happened and he was exhausted of it all.

 

* * *

 

“Surprised you’re still here,” he remarked casually, regarding the boy who perched on his dining table, seemingly smoking his way through his entire pack of cigarettes, ashtray overflowing onto the shiny wood.

“Me too, he replied, and once again there was no comeback, his fire was gone, just one eye tracking him warily as he walked over, yawning as he went and taking the last cigarette out of the pack, they were his after all, so he was more than entitled to one.

“You sleep okay?”

“Hm,” he shrugged, pulling his shirt back over his shoulder where the oversized neck hole had fallen down, collarbone cut and grazed, red against his pale skin. “Not too bad.”

He just nodded in response, because what else was he meant to say? If he wasn’t willing to talk, continuing to babble would just annoy him. “You going to tell me what happened now?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” the ash tumbled from his cigarette, streaking down the black of his t-shirt and staining the fabric, probably the first clean thing he’d worn in a while, not filled with holes and threadbare as his usual outfit was, had been for a while.

“Suit yourself,” but he wasn’t happy. He couldn’t just turn up here looking like that and expect to not be asked questions, to seemingly objects to his fully valid concerns. “Hungry?”

“Bit,” and again the admission was wrong, he should be scowling, twisting his lip so it split open and licking the blood away, spitting that he didn’t take charity. Mizuki’s smile faltered, dying on his lips as he just nodded, because whatever had happened to Sly had driven him here, accepting his help and lingering as if there was something he wanted but couldn’t bring himself to ask for, scared of his newfound vulnerability.

“Not sure I have much in,” he remarked, trying to gain back some sense of normalcy, trying to appear casual as he walked into the kitchen even while the yellow eye following him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Opening the fridge and hearing the soft patter of bare feet as Sly followed him in, entering his kitchen for the first time in the bartender’s presence and looking around as if he hadn’t been in there before stealing food. He tried to ignore the way he followed like a child, trying not to link it to his reluctance to sleep without the bartender the night before, as if he didn’t want to be left alone, looking over his shoulder if not only metaphorically, searching for danger that just wasn’t there. Opening the fridge and using the door blocking off Sly’s view to take a deep breath, feeling significantly unnerved at the sudden, 180 degree turn in his personality, examining the sparsely stocked shelves. “Bacon and egg sound good?”

“Sure,” it was quiet, and he knew if he looked Sly would barely be listening, staring around the kitchen, or maybe just at his back, making sure he was still there, that somebody remained in his life who wouldn’t just hurt him.

He didn’t like the creeping feeling of unease that grew in his spine as he began to cook, keeping his back to Sly because the small, childlike vulnerability of his closely held form made him feel a little sick, focusing on the sizzle of bacon and the ping of the toaster. Suddenly realising how hungry he was as he cracked eggs into the pan, four of them, popping the toast back down to warm it through and grabbing first one plate, then remembering his guest, another and cutlery. “Coffee?”

“No.”

That was unusual too, he’d always had coffee before when he’d been here, but then maybe he’d drunk it more as something to warm him up than because he particularly liked it, he was hardly the type to drink it just out of politeness after all.

 

* * *

 

He ate different too, timidly, nibbling at his toast and occasionally sipping on the glass of orange juice Mizuki had placed in front of him, figuring he must be thirsty too, and anything to up his blood sugar was probably a good idea. He didn’t touch the cutlery, doing everything in small, tentative movements and ignoring the eggs altogether, dunking the bacon into the yolk and biting it off in tiny chunks with a blank expression. Mizuki knew he’d eaten at least something the night before, so he wouldn’t be ravenously hungry as he almost always had been before, but it was still odd for him to eat with such restraint whereas normally he would shovel it in like an animal with no thought for mess or manners.

Mizuki couldn’t help but watch him, horribly aware of the way he was sitting, trying to scrunch up small in his chair and arms kept close to his body, like he was nervous to move too fast, too suddenly. Barely paying attention to what he was putting in his own mouth, satiating his own hunger but not enjoying the way the yolk burst on his tongue and the buttery crunch of the toast as his teeth sunk through to the soft middle. If it wasn’t Sly Blue he was speaking about, he’d almost say he just wanted to hug him, because his loud, brash personality had suddenly disappeared and now he missed it, something he never thought he’d think. It made him sad, worried to his very core, to see him like this, not himself, like something had finally extinguished the fire that had made him so hated, a fire Mizuki suddenly realised he wanted to relight.

 

* * *

 

It almost seemed he was never going to leave, he’d barely touched his breakfast and had instead just slowly smoked his way through another box of cigarettes Mizuki had retrieved from his secret stash in his room, only invented after Sly’s sudden arrival in his life. He’d lingered as Mizuki excused himself to shower, steam making his head feel light for the first time in what felt like days, thoughts heavy and bruising his shoulders where they hung oppressively.

He sat in front of the TV, but his fingers were focused on the tattooing magazine in his hands, fingers trailing absently over the neatly printed words on the glossy pages. He suddenly wondered if Sly could read at all, assuming he’d seen his note the day before and decided, for once, to obey and actually be quiet, but thinking it was possible he hadn’t been able to interpret it and stayed quiet anyway. But now wasn’t exactly the time to ask, in fact there was never really a good time to ask something like that, just sitting beside him on the sofa silently, running a hand through his wet hair with a frown, thinking he should have towelled it a little longer. He was focused on the droplets running down his back, dampening the collar of his t-shirt and making him wince even as he yawned, stretching and placing his arms over the back of the sofa comfortably and taking in the moving images on the screen absently. Sly wasn’t saying anything, and when he looked over at him he was curled up small, magazine put aside and gazing blankly at the screen, not reacting to the terrible acting or indeed anything else.

He licked his lips carefully, wondering whether to just let him stay until he’d gotten his fill or whatever it was he’d come for or whether to actually ask again about his wellbeing, knowing he’d probably be shut down but not entirely sure he cared. “Sly,” it was tentative, cautious and he regarded the yellow eye that turned his way nervously, noting with only mild relief that it was slightly less red now, white less streaked now and swelling of the other going down. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He just stared at him a moment longer, blinking once and eye scanning over his face curiously, tracing a drop of water down his forehead and onto his cheek, nostrils hitching only slightly as his lip twitched. He looked concerned, really concerned, olive eyes downturned with worry about him, more than there’d ever been before, watching him almost beseechingly, just wanting him to tell the fucking truth for once. But damn he wanted to, to for once let himself be a human like Mizuki had said, to open and up admit that maybe something was wrong, that he wasn’t feeling like himself and he felt lost and small and scared in a way he never had before. He felt like some part of him had been torn away with each pair of hands on him, pinning him down, twisting his arm, shoving him to the ground and pushing him into the wall so his skin scraped off in red trails of blood on the dirty brickwork. But his lungs weren’t working and all the moisture had gone from his mouth, split lip dry and throbbing constantly, spikes of pain travelling up his spine and fingers pressing hard into a bruise on his shin.

So he just shook his head, averting his eyes down to Mizuki’s neck, not seeing his expression falter and his brows crinkle sadly, just hearing the long sigh he exhaled through his nose and blinking fast, swallowing hard as fear overcame him. Because he’d gone and done it now, smallest movement of his head right and left meaning so much, showing weakness he never dared to before, would never show to anybody. But then, nobody had ever got close enough for him to show them anything but cold and hard, Mizuki was a fucking weirdo in all rights but Sly liked him, he was different, and he appreciated that.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” He expected the second head shake that earned, noticing him curling up smaller, hands growing tighter where they wrapped around his legs and entire frame tense as if he expected something horrible, unbearable to happen now he’d finally been honest with him. But he just smiled softly, because at least he was opening up now, finally, after he’d been trying for what seemed like months now and honestly had been, nearly a year in fact since their first meeting. “Okay.”

He breathed his words, accepting quietly that Sly still wouldn’t talk, he’d admitted enough today, fingers twitching on his skinny legs and breath hitching hard when the bartenders arm dropped from the back of the sofa over his shoulder, pulling him into his body. Blinking in alarm because he was hugging him, no, more like cuddling, head pulled to rest on his shoulder and knees somehow automatically tucking in neatly next to his legs, frowning slightly, because what the hell was this supposed to be? Was he trying to comfort him? Because it wasn’t going to work, he didn’t need comforting because he was fine, well, he’d just admitted he wasn’t but that hardly mattered. He could cope, he would cope, like he always did, alone and without the bartenders arm a worryingly soothing weight on his shoulders. He didn’t like the burning feeling behind his swollen eye or the way his chest suddenly stung even though all that was there were bruises, only growing worse as he shifted and inadvertently got closer, hair tickling the underside of his chin.

He knew if anybody ever found out about this he’d never be taken seriously again, allowing this one chink in his armor could totally destroy his reputation and something inside him screamed to run, to break away, to be angry as he always was, but he just couldn’t. He was finally warm, clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, he’d slept in an actual bed instead of on a mouldy, damp mattress on a hard stone floor, his stomach was full and for once he didn’t want anything. Didn’t feel a need to get high and forget everything for a while, didn’t feel angry and red hot inside, didn’t want to fight or fuck or cause trouble, he just wanted to stay still for a while, to bask in this feeling of being okay, and he wasn’t sure when the last time was he’d felt anywhere near to being okay.

Mizuki was warm, he was always warm, always slowly defrosting the chunk of ice in his chest, even if only a little, bringing out smiles and laughs he never normally showed, didn’t know he was capable of because hell, he was hardly the jolly type. His heartbeat was slow and steady, a rhythmic thud he could hear reverberating through his head and although he’d slept well he could almost feel himself drifting off. Relaxing against his side and deciding he didn’t give a fuck, he never did anyway, but right now he really didn’t care, he felt like half of Midorijima could trek into the room and he wouldn’t move a single inch. For once the bartender was silent and he was glad for that, if he didn’t speak Sly could pretend, pretend he didn’t feel comfortable here, on the sofa and tucked carefully under his arm, pretend he was just sat next to a radiator or some other source of heat.

But oh, nothing could smell as good as this, he was already surrounded by the scent of the tattooist, clothes hanging loosely and much too large on his slim body, shampoo used to scrub blood and dirt and knots out of his hair until it was almost soft. Masculine and musky and tinged with the particular scents he had come to associate with him, ink and coffee and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke, a familiar smell that wasn’t blood or damp or his own vomit after he tripped too hard or took too much.

Now he thought about it, Mizuki was one of the few things in his life that could even be considered good, possibly the only one, he was the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had, and that in itself was bizarre. People didn’t want to be his friend, they either wanted to fuck him or beat the shit out of him, not to joke with him and ask about his day, his wellbeing as if it actually mattered how he felt, how he was doing.  As for actually touching him, people didn’t do that unless it was to leave bruises, most people avoided him like he had the plague, like even brushing against him would infect them with something disgusting that would turn them into somebody as vile as him. But the bartender had no qualms with it even before he’d been able to wash and get clean clothes, not batting an eyelid when he draped himself over him teasingly or attempted to molest him in other ways, objecting to the sexual nature of the touches, but not caring that it was Sly and he was dirty. It was strange, being allowed to touch, to see something he wanted and to be able to get it, to take it if he wanted and not receive any repercussions, no beatings or screaming, no blood drawn and no bruises left behind.

He couldn’t remember the last time somebody had touched him with something other than anger, wasn’t sure if anybody had ever touched him gently, held him like this, like he deserved to be comforted as much as anybody else. He didn’t know if he liked it or hated it when the bartender shifted slightly, fingers playing absently with his hair as his spine tensed again, not knowing if he wanted him to get the fuck off or to never stop, nails scratching at his scalp gently making his lip twitch because damn it felt nice but he knew it shouldn’t. He was confused, and scared and somehow a little lost, he felt like he’d lost all control over himself and it made him feel like he was suffocating, warmth becoming unbearable because shit he was melting and he was so afraid he’d never be able to freeze again if he let himself.

“Relax,” then Mizuki whispered against his hair and he sucked in a shocked breath because he was talking and the illusion was shattered and suddenly he was back, letting the bartender cuddle him without so much as a slap let alone the black eye he would once have given him. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He didn’t know why that helped, but it really did and he slowly let his shoulders lower, breathing slowly and trying to swallow back the uneasy sickness in his gut because if it didn’t mean anything it was fine. If he could walk away after this and get back to his old self, if they could continue their bizarre relationship then it was okay, he could carry on trying to get into his pants and he could continue refusing. Nothing had to change, not him, not them, not anything, nothing was being ruined now, nobody was losing their reputation and nobody was being weak.

His fingers shook as his pale hand curled into his t-shirt slowly, warm over the tanned muscle and simply resting there silently, yellow eye focused on it, watching himself touching somebody for once. Not harshly or to defend himself, not sexually to earn money or drugs or alcohol, not to flirt or tease or try and worm his way into his bed, just because he could, because he might actually want to. There was something horribly passive about just sitting next to him like this, leaning against his side and even with the bartenders arm around his waist now and his fingers in his shirt, he felt oddly distant though he knew he’d never been this close to somebody before in his life.

It was almost funny, or it would be if he was in any mood to laugh, he knew if he’d seen this scene a few weeks ago, even if it had just been suggested to him he would have laughed til he cried, then probably punched whoever suggested it for implying he might do something as pathetic as cuddle. But now here he was, a series of events he was sick of thinking about now and he’d ended up in this stupid fucking apartment again, drawn here like a magnet even though he didn’t know why. He came back again and again, approaching Mizuki every time he saw him even if he had nothing to say, lip twitching up even when he saw only the back of his head amongst a gang of Dry Juice members.

But the humour faded about ten minutes later and the tension building in his chest built to unbearable levels, feeling suddenly trapped in the warm enclosure of his arm and moving away as he should have done immediately, voice cold when he spoke.

“I have to go,” and of course Mizuki just nodded, offering an almost fond smile that made the snakes in his stomach writhe, eating the butterflies that tried vainly to escape and bolting upright, heading instantly for the door. Now everything had hit him the urge to flee was too strong and staying for even a minute more made anger bubble up inside him, almost twitching by the door because his danger levels were at full and they hadn’t been like that since-

Mizuki huffed an amused laugh as he flinched away from the hand that tilted his chin up, tone firm but warm as he spoke, leaving no space for argument. “You’ll be fine.”

His mouth twitched up again, because he knew that, he always was after all, not noticing the bead of blood that escaped from his lip until Mizuki swiped it away, managing a half smile, “don’t need you to tell me that.”

Then he was gone as soon as he had come, leaving nothing behind but a drop of blood on Mizuki’s thumb, sweet against his lips and lingering like a kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

He didn’t like this. Not even a little bit, not even remotely, not even ironically. No, he really, really hated this, sniffling wetly as the night set in and it grew cold, wondering if moving his mattress right into the corner had been a good idea or not. He felt strangely trapped again and he forced his eyes open against the dark images that lingered just behind his lids, threatening to immerse him again in that memory that stopped him keeping food down.

Nothing was working, not the fluid he’d injected into his veins or the pills he’d swallowed down one-two-three, the bottle of vodka was empty and he just felt colder inside, burning of his throat fading away all too soon and leaving him with an empty ache. It seemed almost darker than normal and his last candle was flickering unnervingly in the chilled breeze that seeped through the holes in the corrugated iron of the roof, whistling through the cracked window above his head. He stared at the flame blankly, vision blurring until all he could see was the faintest movement of orange, darting and dipping like his heartrate, racing one second then slowing to a dull thud he didn’t want to feel. He pulled his hoodie round him closer, trying to pretend he’d only changed into this one because the other one was damp, the scent that clung to it, not yet obscured by mould and filth had nothing to do with it. He was warmer this way, arms wrapped around his middle and hood pulled low over his face so his eyes were almost fully hidden, trying not to make comparisons and pretending the scent wasn’t helping him feel a little better.

He hurt all over, his stomach burned where the alcohol rested heavily and no matter how he sat pain shot up his spine, trying to ignore the fierce burn from his backside because he didn’t want to have to remember it anymore, to think about it and still be able to feel the laughter in his ears. His warehouse suddenly didn’t seem as safe as it always had, knowing he lived most of his life in constant danger had no effect on how suddenly unnerved he felt now, breath hitching and nostrils flaring at the smallest noise from outside. He wanted to close his eyes, to block out the thoughts and the sight of where he was, cold and damp and with his candle about to sputter out, wax spreading messily across the cracked concrete floor and sticking to his fingertips where they poked it idly. But whenever his eyes flickered shut even for a second it all came back, the burning pain and the hands on him, grabbing and tearing and shoving his face down into the hard floor and his stomach lurched and he jerked back to reality with a scared gasp that he hated.

He was almost out of cigarettes, one pack completely destroyed by the rain the week before and now just a useless, soggy pile that splattered against the wall where he’d angrily thrown them only an hour before, his second to last one burning down slowly in his fingers. He’d let too many go to waste, lighting them only to forget and jolt back as they singed his fingers and the sudden sharp stab of pain brought him back to now, alone and fucking more freaked out than he’d ever been. A sudden flare of anger overcame him and he threw the cigarette away because fuck he didn’t even want it, burying his fingers into blue hair and pretending he couldn’t still feel somebody else’s fingers carding through it comfortingly. His nails scratched along his scalp and his hair screamed as he yanked at the roots, trying to rip the thoughts, the memories right out of his head, digging in harder because he couldn’t let himself think about it, about the gentle scratching of blunt nails because he shouldn’t have let it happen.

Shouldn’t be breathing like this, so shaky and broken and almost damp because fuck his lungs were straining for air and he felt sick to his stomach, trying not to let the meagre contents of his breakfast spill out even though he shouldn’t have eaten it in the first place. He shouldn’t have agreed to it, or to stay, or to any of it. Shouldn’t have gone in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

He knew what had driven him there, it had been another night like this, he’d spent the entire day again making money in the only way he knew how and his jaw ached and his throat burned, then he’d gotten back, to his warehouse. Been greeted by emptiness and cold and the dark that suddenly didn’t feel like his friend anymore but more an enemy, trying to drag him in with it’s black fingertips and sharp nails. He was just going for food, for a shower to wash the blood away and clean himself up because he knew he was torn somewhere he shouldn’t be, just using him the way he’d been used. Walking there quietly, not even responding to the cat calls and insults that followed him because each of them hit him harder than they ever would and the second somebody stepped too close his heart stopped for a second and his breath stuttered and he almost fucking ran.

There was a feeling of sick dread in his stomach that he couldn’t understand because the worst had already happened and what else could go wrong now? It was like suddenly he couldn’t get there soon enough, telling himself it was because of locked doors and security and the sheer fact that nobody would ever look for him there but he knew that wasn’t the truth. But then he was outside and there was noise from inside the bar, voices of a crowd and suddenly he wished he never came because he couldn’t face anybody like this didn’t want them to say anything to him because he didn’t know how he’d react.

His mood wasn’t stable in any sense, one person said something and it was rage and fists and not caring that he was getting hurt more because he was almost curious to see how much it would take to kill him now. But then somebody else sneered and acted superior and he just ignored them because something in his chest was throbbing painfully and he couldn’t control his expression or the burning behind his eyes as his throat tightened. He wasn’t himself and he didn’t like it, didn’t understand how he could have lost all control this fast, how his emotions were like a fucking rollercoaster because god he just wanted to get off.

 

* * *

 

 

But then he arrived, and picked the lock with hands that shook so much it took him triple the normal time and was a damn sight noisier, locking it behind him almost instantly and taking a second to just breathe and look around, checking each corner for danger. He could feel his bottom lip jutting out as he struggled to breathe and knew his eyes were damp even as he looked for him because now he was here he’d stopped caring, stopped lying. He knew why he was here, he’d known the first time, but now he’d arrived and the person he needed was nowhere in sight and he felt so fucking stupid even as he ran a hand over his face and tried weakly to scowl. But it died quickly as he checked every room and came back blank as his expression had fallen, because what was the need to pretend when there was nobody here? He ignored the hot feeling in his throat and the moisture that rose in his eyes quickly, too quickly, wondering why he’d chosen now for this to happen, unable to be this open in his warehouse, had to be closed up and hard even there.

Then there was wetness on his cheeks and his throat was getting thick and when he tried to breathe only a sob came out and his hand clenched over his mouth and suddenly his stomach rebelled and he was running to the toilet and throwing up into the white bowl. He told himself it was just the acid burning his throat that made his eyes water, trying not to focus on the white that swam in the bowl because oh god he hadn’t eaten anything that day, filling his time with customer after customer and the salt on his lips made his legs shake.

He was dirty, all over, he still hadn’t cleaned himself since it happened, there was blood crusted everywhere and he was sure that wasn’t all it was but he couldn’t bring himself to think about that, shower suddenly like heaven to him. He felt weak, like he’d lost blood but then maybe it was just hunger, or shock, clothes pulled off and flinching because his ribs were black and purple and rainbow shades of bruising, foot print visible on his back in the whole wall mirror where he suddenly couldn’t stand to look at himself.

The cold water barely affected him, he couldn’t feel anything anyway, just noticing his legs shaking worse because the door might be locked and he might be somewhere safe but he felt sick and seeing his naked body reflected in the glass just made it worse. His vision was swimming and the next thing he knew his legs had given in and was on the tile cold floor, water slowly warming and defrosting his chilled flesh even as he stayed there because he was sick of getting back up. What did getting back up do for him? Other than get him beaten and kicked and treated worse than a dog, no, this time he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get back up, face pressed against the tile floor and water washing away the salt on his face, whimpering as it infiltrated his wounds.

It wasn’t often he felt like this, in fact he couldn’t remember ever having done so before, but he suddenly felt very small, like a child, maybe that was why he was here, because he knew here he’d be looked after, maybe that was all he really wanted.

He could feel the shocking fear that had overtaken him slowly seep away as he washed himself, biting his lip because everything hurt and he felt horribly unable to cope with it in a way he never had been before, he felt weak and vulnerable and childish and he didn’t like it.

There was a note outside the door when he left, but he couldn’t bring himself to read it, because he knew what it would say, stepping over it and expression hard as he willed his eyes to stop their damn watering already because he was fine, he was always fucking fine. He was almost angry at him for not being there, because he knew their usual friendly back and forth would get him back to normal in minutes.

But he knew if he'd been there, with his worried green eyes and his caring, warm voice he would have cracked. The tears, the emotion he'd been holding in would erupt, and damn he knew without a single doubt that he would have thrown himself into his arms and sobbed.

But now he was left here alone chewing at his nails and trying to work out what to do, heading into the kitchen and buttering bread with eyes that couldn’t see past the shine of the steak knives in the drawer he’d left ajar. His jaw worked by itself, chewing the bread into mush he could hardly stand to choke down, picking off the crusts til they were just a pile on the coffee table as he tried to focus on the images on screen, taking in blurry colour and flinching every time the sound downstairs got harder against his ears. Eyes flitting to the door as if they might come back to finish him off, to take his last shred of dignity that he wasn’t sure he’d even had to begin with, but knowing they couldn’t, they didn’t know he was here, nobody would expect him.

Nobody but Mizuki. Already their distance was making him anxious, to have arrived without his presence before had always been preferable, but now the empty rooms and oppressive silence was making his ears whine. The promise of food and a shower and somewhere safe to be overtaken by the knowledge that he was lying to himself again, that wasn’t why he’d come here and he’d known it all along. The company had just been an acceptable perk up until now, but it was all he wanted this time, hours growing later and sky darker as he didn’t return and he was still so alone he may as well have stayed in his warehouse.

 

* * *

 

 

But he’d arrived, and of course he had, fingers shaking as he lit his second to last cigarette and he was stealing again but he never had cared, exhaling smoke as it went silent downstairs and there were heavy footsteps approaching. His heart stopped. Then restarted just as fast, beating slow and insistent against his purpling ribs, not sure if it was reassuring or if it just made him feel worse that it refused to stop, because God he really wanted it to right now.

He broke the silence because shit he just wanted to hear his voice but the worry in it made him sick and the bread tried to rise up again, swallowing hard against the sharp bile that tore at his tongue. There were fingers on his neck and this was why he had come but they burnt against his skin and he had to move away, blinking hard because he wouldn’t cry now, couldn’t, he was stronger, better than that.

He asked, tone soft and fond and fuck and he paused to think even though he knew his answer long before he even arrived. Soft sheets and warm tones and blankets to protect and a pillow to hold in shaking hands because Mizuki had left the room and he wanted him back right now but he couldn’t ask and sometimes he hated himself for it because how was he meant to get what he wanted if he wouldn’t ask?

He curled up small, wanting to hide, to disappear into soft sheets that smelled like olive green and tan skin and warm fingers. But the bed was cold and he couldn’t warm it up, too iced up inside, leaving frost in his wake, tensed and so far from relaxed the sheets scrunched up and creased in his vice grip, hiding his face in the pillow and pretending he couldn’t feel the pain of screwing his eyes shut against it all.

But it always came back when he didn’t want it to, the fingers he could feel on his skin were hard now, pressing in and leaving five perfect bruises on each of his hips that still hadn’t faded days after everything had ended for him. The silence was unnerving and comforting at the same time, but then everything was like that now, just being here calmed his racing heart and made it pound harder all at once and he couldn’t understand what it meant. The pillow was soft against his cheek but his head roared with thoughts and yellow snapped open with a gasp and it was as if they were right there with him because he could feel the sting of his chest as they kicked him down. His scalp stung as his back was forced up and his face was shoved into the wall, cheek tearing onto the pillows soft case and leaving red streaks, clothes ripping and he’d come here so he wouldn’t be alone but now he was and it was happening again and-

Humming. From somewhere in the apartment, floating through the open door where he could see faint light, breathing stuttering then resuming, slowly uncurling from the sheets that had become a prison and ears pricking up. He didn’t recognise the tune, but then he wasn’t much for music, unless he was stoned as hell in a club, on his knees in the toilets with only the dull vibrations or their hard grips leaving any lasting mark on him.

Torn lips parted and he caught his breath as he’d had to so many nights, focusing on the sound, broken and messy, occasional line of lyrics sang in that deep honey voice, reminding him he was there, just a room away. He knew he could get up and walk in, curl up on the sofa instead and let the distant sound of fingers on laptop keys soothe him, but he was defrosting again and the blanket was warming over him, eyes closing and nothing coming to mind but that he was safe now. That he was always safe with Mizuki.

 

* * *

 

 

But then the morning came and with it the cold, floor icing up where his footsteps hit because waking next to him had been too much and he’d had to tear his eyes away from the tattoo on his cheek and steal more cigarettes instead. Smoking five, ten, fifteen, to empty his mind til nothing else filled it but the pain of his lungs and how disgusting the taste was getting as it sank into stolen clothes. Humming stuck in his head with breathy, thoughtlessly sung bursts of verse and chorus interspersed, trying to block out the laughter and mocking with it only for it to break through and make ash drop onto his lap.

Staying though he didn’t know what for, something he couldn’t name or identify even to himself, even if he didn’t lie for once in his miserable excuse for an existence, lounging on the couch with a magazine in his fingers. Distracting himself with glossy pictures and text he could only read some of, characters squirming and merging into one blob of white he was too exhausted to even try and understand. A hand behind his head, lazy and casual, everything he didn’t feel right now, not even able to think up some smart mouthed comment over the laughter that rang constantly in his ears. Silence again, and he could hear Mizuki’s breathing, noticed the eyes that flickered to him occasionally, scanning over his injuries and crinkling up in the corners, see the tongue that licked over his lips nervously, anticipated the words before they came.

Then the lies, the façade and the false confidence and bravado fell away and oh fuck he felt so small under his gaze and he couldn’t look at him, staring at his lap until he was pulled nearer and tears stabbed at his eyes and he refused to let them fall.

He knew even before he left that he could never go back, because he had fallen down now and dragging himself back up wasn’t going to happen if he let himself stick around any longer than he already had. He’d known from the beginning that this wouldn’t end well but it was all going so much worse than he’d ever anticipated and when he moved away he knew he’d have to kill the voice that screamed at him to stay, to be vulnerable. But it was his fault this had all happened anyway, he’d been weak, if he’d been stronger they would have been afraid of him instead of it turning out the other way around where he couldn’t even walk through the streets without flinching and feeling his spine prickle with terror. No, he couldn’t let himself go back to Mizuki and that warmth and the hands that touched him with care as if he meant something instead of being less than worthless.

 

* * *

 

He shivered again, wiping the memory away and reminding himself why he was here, why he had to deal with the nightmares and the pain and the stinging tears that he couldn’t fucking control anymore. Biting his lip hard and ignoring it split for the millionth time because he deserved the pain, he’d let himself relax and it had fucked him up, it had got him attacked, beaten.  So he’d stay here in his warehouse, in the nearest thing to a home he had, and he wouldn’t let himself think of green eyes or calloused skin, damaged knuckles and that throaty chuckle that resonated in his spine. He’d just wanted a fuck, and he didn’t need to be his friend to get that, it wasn’t worth the risks he’d taken and he knew it, so he’d put that idea aside and go back to life before him, when things had been simple.

Mizuki was everything he couldn’t stand, soft and warm and honest to a fucking fault, he made him sick, he hated him. Hated the way he treated him, as if he needed looking after, protecting, when it was his care that had gotten him in this fucking mess in the first place, when it was his fault he felt so twisted up inside and so unlike himself. He hated him.

Maybe if he repeated it enough he’d start to believe it.

 

* * *

 

 

But now he’d realised he had to stay away, _had to_ , almost half of the island was closed off to him, because he knew if he so much as saw Mizuki he’d worm his way under his skin again and he hated him being there. Couldn’t let anybody in because if he did they’d make him weak, he’d learned that with his Grandma, and besides, he couldn’t have any connections or they’d get treated with the same contempt as him. So he had to find new prey to release his anger on, new shops to thieve from where they didn’t know him beyond reputation and might look the other way the first few times to avoid a fight. Ended up in the school district, unnerved by the looks the children gave him even as their parents dragged them away, whispering to them the evils of Sly Blue even as he leaned against a wall and calmly smoked his cigarettes, doing nothing to upset them but managing it anyway. It was almost impressive.

"Get away from him! He's dangerous."

Yellow eyes flickered up, because this he wouldn't deny, but even he was above hurting children, despite his intense disliking of them and of everything childhood entailed, he was already bitter at Mizuki for hanging out in the better areas, because now he’d exiled himself he had to deal with this, middle aged mothers and their sniveling brats.

"Dangerous? Me?" Pale fingers clutching a cigarette pointed at a green shirted chest, blue eyebrows raised in fake surprise. "I think you must have me confused with someone else."

The woman's head shook, watery blue eyes flitting between the teen and her young daughter, hate and fear swirling in the orbs. "I know exactly who you are." Her voice was harsh, a strong contrast to her gently lined face and motherly, floral clothing.

"Feel free to enlighten me." This was what he'd been reduced to, picking fights with old women and scaring children for cheap kicks, anything to keep his mind away from olive green and white teardrops.

"I know what you do, Sly." His name, spat like a curse from a lipsticked mouth was heaven to his ears, smirk growing exponentially as he extinguished his cigarette on his arm and earned a horrified gasp. “You’re a monster!”

Something about that hit him all wrong and his expression hardened, because this had been fun before but this old bitch had ruined his entertainment and how _dare_ she call him a monster when deep inside she was no better. “What?” He was scowling by now, expression murderous but the dumb whore had the tenacity, the idiotic bravery to stand her ground, hiding her child behind her floral skirt and expression superior as she looked down her nose at him.

“You’re a monster.” She might be trying to seem like the better person to her daughter, but her voice was trembling and her eyes had gained an ugly sheen of fear that Sly had no plans to dispel, after all, here was something fun to do. But that word again, monster, like he was less than human, just some animal people could kick around for fun and who came begging for scraps. He was no monster, and he didn’t need the bartender’s bullshit and kind words to know that. He knew who the real monster was, and it was so fucking far from him that he wanted to laugh, to laugh as he pushed this woman out of the way and stalked past, because even he wouldn’t hurt her in front of her daughter, who peered at him with the kind of innocence only children held.

Instead he lit another cigarette, deliberately exhaling his smoke in her direction and managing a weak twitch of his lip as she grimaced over exaggeratedly and coughed pathetically, trying to seem like she didn’t want to flee as he approached. Stopping right in front of her, eyes stony and mouth set into a scowl that would set almost anybody else on this island running, glaring into her shallow blue eyes and using his cigarette to get his point across, spitting his words like acid into her ugly face.

“Monsters, don’t, exist.” But he knew she didn’t understand even as he spoke, moving away suddenly and clutching her daughter to her side, the girl who had just been curious, who he wouldn’t have hurt anyway, now warped by her own mother into hating him when he had been doing nothing wrong. When he was never doing anything wrong.

But nobody had ever seen the unfairness of that except Mizuki, but he had gotten in too deep and he couldn’t go back, he could never go back, couldn’t risk it because something about him had infiltrated into his deepest emotions and he hated showing anything but anger because he had every fucking right to be angry. Yanking his headphones on and turning them up high, music blasting into his head, rattling his skull and shaking his bones, just the way he liked it, drowning out everybody else, the random man who had seen him with the old hag and was now yelling obscenities at him like he’d been attacking her.

But that was nothing out of the ordinary, ignoring the fact he could hear them over his music and scrambling messily up a broken fence panel, disappearing onto the rooftops where he was alone but the birds, and watching from above, waiting til it got dark and he could go to work, where he’d be in his element. Where the real monsters came out.

 

* * *

 

 

Something about his warehouse, about the island was suffocating now. Though he wasn’t sure what. Something in the air maybe? In the confining restriction of those four, familiar walls, battered and decorated with his dark scrawls and the occasional splash of blood where something had gone wrong for him, or for someone else. Something trapping in the fact that he know every street and walkway, every alley and building. In that he recognized the people, the shops, the way he knew which areas he’d find a fair fight in, and which ones he could go to for a beating. When he recognized the tag signs, and which gangs to stay away from, and knew where it’s easiest to steal a meal from.

Something was creating a constricting band around his lungs and a lump in his throat that he couldn’t get rid of even with a million stolen cigarettes and so many drugs he was amazed his heart kept beating. Somehow, being here didn’t feel as much like being home as it used to. He supposed he didn’t really have a home anymore, not here in his warehouse, but somehow not back with his Grandma or at Mizuki’s bar either, trapped in between the three. He used to look forward to going to the bar, to banter and joke with the bartender and leaving his warehouse safely locked behind him. Then he’d arrive, and for a few moments he’d feel almost comfortable, everything was safe and warm and accepting. But it smothered him soon enough, Mizuki always did have the nasty habit of doing that, of stealing the air from his lungs and leaving him with a feeling like drowning.

The same people surrounding him and the same monotonous routine, nothing new to see and nowhere to discover, it was almost driving him insane, throwing himself into Rhyme and fights and stealing more brazenly, crawling home most nights beaten and with ribs he was certain were at least cracked. Laughing as he lay on his damp mattress, because the pain in his side reminded him he was still alive, and god damn it all he planned on staying that way if only to piss people off with his existence.

But the bartender was under his skin and he had to get him out, fresh veins harder to find every day and jaw constantly aching under the strain of having to work for the drugs he needed now, the ones he injected into blue paths that streaked around his body. The drugs that finally wiped his mind clean until he awoke the next day and had to start it all over again.

But he was making everything worse, and he knew that even as he did it, knowing his reputation was getting worse with every day he spent by himself, because he could manage by himself, he always had before, so he could now. He couldn’t go back ever, could never set his eyes on that tanned skin or the bar where he’d been allowed to sleep, he didn’t deserve the softness or concern, surrounding himself with hate instead and letting it soak into him until he was harder than ever before.

 

* * *

 

 

But then he heard whispers, everywhere around him people were talking, Christmas was near and it was almost a year since he had seen the bartender but Dry Juice were expanding their turf and he knew soon there would be nowhere he would be safe from that soft green. Trying to pretend he didn’t hear the people talking, that he didn’t see the new tag art springing up in the grounds he had made his own, horribly close to his warehouse and his hunting grounds, harder now than ever to get customers. He’d hardened in the last year, gotten tougher, stronger, better at fighting, his reputation was at an all-time low but God he yearned for some real fun, where he could use his words instead of his fists for once. What better place than Dry Juice?

It was easy, amusingly easy, to track their members, leaping across the rooftops and ignoring a bad landing or a scrape of his hand as he scrambled to keep his balance, tracking their movements and following the routes they took on their rounds. He had them memorized within a week, but their leader was nowhere to be seen, not with them when they gathered in their usual spot by the stairs and scrapped for fun, not when they all went to a restaurant for what seemed like somebody’s birthday and left horribly drunk. He was nowhere to be seen, and Sly was getting curious, getting nearer to the bar every day and finally catching a glimpse of him late at night, locking the bar and smoking a single cigarette, shoulders heavy with tiredness and eyes flitting around as if looking for something.

 

Then he got braver, sneaking into the bar itself one night after seeing all the members slowly trickle their way in, knowing he could sell the information he gained to some low down Rib team with a grudge, Bug Bomb maybe. Pretending he wasn’t just trying to satiate his own curiosity as he crouched down behind the door to the bathrooms, having climbed in through the window easily, ears pricked up. Heard talk of death and some kind of memorial, something that sounded almost like crying and he nearly laughed at that, because what a weak thing to do, especially for a tough member of Dry Juice. Got bored quickly and snuck out, lingering in the shadows of the bar as they left again in morose silence and heard talk of heaven and better places and sneered.

He’d seen Hell. Stared it right in the face. He didn’t even have to die. He doubted the Hell of the afterlife could be any worse than the Hell of the life he lived.

He’d seen its flames, red raw and licking hungrily against the eyes of the men who ran hands over his body and pressed him into alley walls. Heard it in their grunts and felt its searing burn through his tortured flesh.

It was constant. Once you’d fallen far enough there was no climbing out. Try as he may, with bleeding, torn off nails and red-raw flesh, pulling and clawing at the walls, slippery with blood and ringing loud with despairing screams and cries of regret that came too late.

The Hell of the afterlife would surely be a blessed relief compared to the Hell of his existence. He sometimes imagined it with fondness, he’d be right at home amongst the tortured souls, pierced with red hot spears and forced to walk forever on shards of razor-sharp broken glass. He liked the impossible tasks he’d learnt in school, that brief period where he’d actually attended before everything turned to shit and he realised he had to look after himself. Laughed aloud at the man who every day pushed a huge boulder to the top of a cliff, only for it to roll back down just as it seemed about to topple off and end his misery. Liked the sadistic streak of whoever had thought that up. The Greek tale too, of the man who stole fire from the Gods and gave it to man, left tied to a rock, liver pecked out every day by an eagle only to grow back overnight so the same cycle could repeat every day. He liked the sound of that. He guessed he was just a masochist.

 

But the Heaven they were speaking of? He’d never seen that, not even a glimpse. He doubted it was even real, but Hell? He believed in that 100%. Heaven was for people too weak to accept they deserved eternal punishment for their crimes in this life. He liked to think of himself as judge, jury and executioner. Mainly executioner though.

He had no doubts that he’d sent several people straight to Hell. The gushing’s of blood and the light leaving their eyes as they began their downward plummet to the pit where they’d spent the rest of time wishing they’d got their blade in first.

He found himself almost looking forward to it. What could be more pleasing than being somewhere everyone was in the same situation as him? Where everyone else hated everything around them, grew bitter and cold, eventually becoming almost numb to even the most traumatic experiences as he himself had long ago.

It was so much easier to just not have emotions. To remain a blank, empty shell of a person. Not numb, because somebody numb has emotions they just can’t feel them. It takes a special kind of skill to just be totally unfeeling, to get to the stage where a relatives tears mean nothing, where a horrific injury on your own skin just makes you raise an eyebrow.

So their tasteful ceremony, their Heaven meant less than nothing to them, and what better way to get kicks than to show up uninvited to the lovely event? He was rather looking forward to it.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been a year before he even registered it, a year of the team recovering and mourning in their own ways, a year of the scar on his stomach stitching together and finally healing, a year, without Yasu. He’d been trying not to think on it much, but as the day grew closer it occupied his mind more, and with nothing else to distract him, he began to feel increasingly depressed about it all, eventually seeking out Tio for some kind of advice.

“Hey Tio, you know it’s nearly the anniversary, do you think we should do something?” Just letting the day pass by without some kind of event seemed wrong to him, but he had no idea what to recommend, he wasn’t the type to give long speeches, and since he still felt partially implicated for his death, he didn’t imagine he’d be the right person to do it anyway.

Tio’s expression creased up in confusion for a moment, taking a drink from his beer and crossing his legs on the sofa, then realisation set in and he frowned slightly, eyes downturned, “For Yasu?” Mizuki just nodded, trying to ignore the pang of hurt that struck him whenever he heard the name, which was very little these days, most of the team having managed to move on in a way he just couldn’t seem to. “Hm, it’s a nice idea, but what?”

“That’s the thing, I just don’t know.” They had to do something, he knew that, to honour his memory and express that they hadn’t forgotten about him, about his sacrifice, involuntary though it had been.

“Want me to ask the team? I’m sure one of them will suggest something good.”

It was a nice gesture, to offer to take it on his own back when it was hardly a pleasant thing to have to do, but he shook his head, he knew he had to do it, as the team’s leader he had to be there even when things got uncomfortable. “I’ll do it, tomorrow at the meeting.”

“Okay,” it looked like he was going to leave it there, but he opened and closed his mouth again, looking troubled as his fingers traced the rim of his bottle absently. “You know nobody blamed you, right?”

“I know, just me.” They left it there, because nothing anybody could say would remove any of the guilt from him, he knew he’d fucked up even if nobody else would blame him, the scar on his stomach a reminder every day of the mistakes he had made that led them to this, a year later and still blaming himself. He absently wondered what Sly would say if he could see him now, still mourning, still locked up in his own grief, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he did all thoughts of him these days. He wasn’t sure when it was he’d last seen him, the days blended into one but he knew it had been months, maybe four, maybe six, he didn’t know why he had disappeared, felt almost bitter that the moment he felt he understood Sly even little he ran, but he supposed that was what he did. He still heard of him of course, tales of him stealing and getting into fights always a good source of gossip amongst his team and the islands population as a whole, so he knew he was still around somewhere living his life, Mizuki was just rather angry he’d been cut out of it.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, does anybody have any suggestions?”

There was silence, the mood had turned from jovial to sombre, people, friends who hadn’t seen each other for weeks, since long before Christmas, now having to cut conversations short and suddenly be reminded of something that may have not even been on their minds.

“It can be anything, it just seems right to do something, to honour his memory.”

There were nods and he knew they agreed without him even saying it, newer members looking mildly confused but quickly being filled in by their friends or working it out for themselves, expressions turning a combination of sad and surprised.

“Um,” the voice was quiet and Mizuki barely registered it at first, only hearing it because of the oppressive silence that had spread across the bar, surprised to see Michi as the speaker, especially since he’d only become an official member a month ago and his tattoo was still healing. “There’s something we always do for my Grandfather…”

He trailed off, maybe uncomfortable at suggesting something for somebody he’d never met, never even knew existed until a couple of seconds ago, but Mizuki nodded, because hell he’d take anything right now. “Um, we set off lanterns, like paper lanterns. We write messages in them sometimes, then wait til its dark and let them go, at the beach normally. It’s just, um, they’re quite pretty and stuff…” He squirmed a little, but some of the others were nodding thoughtfully, as if envisioning it, the pitch dark sky filled with the lanterns, pinpoints of bright orange flame that would float off over the sea and eventually disappear from sight.

Mizuki turned minutely to see Tio, who was nodding, expression oddly impressed, and he had to admit he agreed, the idea was a nice one, really nice, “okay, so that’s one idea, anybody else?”

Now one person had spoken, others seemed willing too, ranging from the same idea but with helium balloons, to just having a casual drink where they could talk about him and reminisce, to getting some kind of plaque put up in his memory, or maybe planting a tree.

In the end, a quick vote led to the balloon and lantern ideas being the most favoured, and a second vote had the paper lantern idea winning almost unanimously, something Mizuki was glad of, because while the balloons would no doubt work well, there was something about how fast they would disappear that he didn’t like.

“Okay, so paper lanterns. Michi, can you hook us up with the supplies?” He nodded, seeming excited but surprised that his idea had been chosen, and knowing Mizuki would reimburse him for any expense there’d be. “Awesome, so everyone meet here on the day at say… Six? Then we can write messages or decorate them if we want, then make our way down to the lake.”

The lake had been Shin’s idea, and as Yasu’s best friend, it had been universally agreed that he’d know best where their informal ceremony should be held, briefly explaining that the small lake had been his favourite place to walk his much loved dog, saying with an almost shaky voice that he’d like it to be there. Watching the hands that came silently to rest on his shoulders as he spoke filled Mizuki’s chest with warmth, because as always his team was the best group of people he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, they had become pillars of support for each other that he never could have imagined.

 

* * *

 

 

It was cold the day of the ceremony, ice had covered the ground overnight and they had to delay everything by half an hour to account for the longer journey times, at least two guys showing up with bruises where they’d slipped on a patch and tumbled to the hard ground. But still, they were all there, wrapped up in big coats and scarves and with beanies pulled low on their heads, giving sighs of relief when they entered the toasty bar, heating cranked up to full.

Michi had done his job with the lanterns and thirty of them lay neatly on the floor of the bar, he’d bought candles for them too and permanent markers so they could write their messages on the white paper before they sent them skyward. They were all finally assembled and Tio and a couple of other guys had taken it upon themselves to make and hand out hot drinks, people holding steaming mugs in cold hands or sharing, because Mizuki really didn’t own that many mugs.

“Okay guys, we all know why we’re here, to honour Yasu’s memory, to remember his life and to celebrate him. Michi’s got everything we need, and I think there’s enough lanterns for a couple of you to have one each, but a most of you will have to share.” He looked to Michi for confirmation and he nodded quickly, nibbling his lip nervously in the heavy atmosphere, “okay, so you don’t have to write on them if you don’t want to, it’s completely up to you. So, um, let’s start, I guess.”

Nobody commented on his words trailing off, knowing how hard it was for him to be doing this in the first place, and Tio’s hand coming to squeeze his shoulder as the guys began their task, picking up lanterns until they all ran out and forming pairs easily, pens held in nervous fingers and eyes sad as they wondered what on earth to write.

“Come on, Mizu, they left us one,” he hadn’t even noticed that somebody had placed a lantern and a black pen on the bar behind them, turning to see it and feeling the dread in his stomach building because he had no right to say anything to Yasu when he had let him die. But Tio had a hand on his elbow as he led him to a spare table, sitting down and taking the pen himself, pausing to think for only  a few seconds before writing his message, turning the lantern over and pushing it over to Mizuki.

His heart had stilled in his chest as he looked around the bar, anything to distract him from the fact that he’d have to write something, not only to set an example but also to try and externalise some of the grief that was heavier than ever today. He glanced around, taking in the solemn faces of his family and feeling horrible that he had caused this, he was the reason Shin was staring at his lantern with his pen shaking in his hand and a horribly blank expression. He was the reason everybody looked so sad and mournful, he was the reason they were down a friend, the reason they were doing this was because he hadn’t tried hard enough, and it was his fault.

“I don’t know what to put,” he admitted softly, seemingly mirroring the feeling of several of them, holding pens awkwardly and trying to peer at other people’s messages, Michi looked beyond lost, having never met Yasu, but even he managed to write something.

“Just put what you feel,” Tio shrugged, but his voice was gentle and he was all too aware of how hard this was for Mizuki, knowing he still blamed himself even now a year later and wishing he could somehow instil in him how wrong he was. “What do you want to say to him?”

“That I’m sorry,” he hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t intended on vocalising it, he hated that everybody in this room wouldn’t blame him, would say he had nothing to do with it, would blame the guy who killed him rather than the one who failed to protect him.

But Tio had seemingly had enough of his moping over this, yanking the pen out of his hand with a stern frown, “I’m not letting you write that.”

“Why? It’s true,” he frowned, not appreciating Tio’s attempts to help

“Because you have nothing to be sorry for, Mizuki. None of us do, we couldn’t have stopped it, you tried, okay, that’s what matters.” His hand was insistent on his shoulder, and something in his eyes was honest, it almost made Mizuki believe his words for a second, realising in that instant what he should write.

“Okay, give me the pen,” Tio didn’t look convinced, but he handed it over anyway, just sighing sadly as he saw what the bartender had written in neat letters and resigning himself to the possibility that Mizuki would never quite forgive himself for this. Taking the lantern off the table and looking round to see how everybody else was getting on, taking in Shin’s still expressionless face and the nervous atmosphere of everybody else.

“Are we all ready to go?” He asked, and the various nods and noises of assent that trickled in were less than soothing, at least two pairs of eyes on Mizuki as if wondering why he had let Tio take charge but not asking, knowing better than that.

 

* * *

 

 

It was quiet on the way, there were light mumbles of conversation and somebody was trying to keep Shin together with minimal success, occasional sniffle leaving him because this was more like a funeral than a wake. The few people on the streets parted in their presence, clearing space for them to walk through the streets like a morbid procession, taking in the lanterns in their hands and offering respectful nods, horribly solemn as if they too knew what was happening. It was all Mizuki could do to nod back, unable to meet their eyes as if they would lock and somehow his guilt would be known to all, as if they would know what he had done, what he had failed to do. Tio was close by his side and the team pressed in all around him and behind, filling the narrow streets, but he didn’t feel comforted much by it, almost wishing they weren’t there, because he was sick of trying to be the perfect leader when he’d already fucked up so bad.

 

* * *

 

 

The lakeside was silent and serene, the moon was just beginning to rise and Mizuki was glad he’d at least timed it well, white light gleaming on the surface of the still water and the trees surrounding them rustled by the cold breeze. There was a mess of buildings to one side, all abandoned and in a state of disrepair, windows smashed and moss growing up their walls to curl into the holes where bricks had been. It was nice, and Mizuki understood why Shin had recommended it, it was the perfect place to say goodbye, or honour his memory, or whatever the hell this was meant to be, feeling like he’d forgotten even as he watched Michi hand out candles and matches to those who didn’t have lighters of their own.

They worked in near silence, offering soft words to those of them who were most upset, carefully unfolding the delicate paper marred with their messages of regret or sorrow or loneliness, placing the small tealights into the slots at the bottom.

Mizuki supposed he should give a speech, just silently helping Tio unfold their lantern, paper crinkling worryingly and needing rather more delicate treatment than he’d expected, noticing Tio’s mouth open then close more than once, as if he wanted to say something. But what could he say? Yasu was dead after all, that was why they were here, preparing for the ceremony in the near darkness with breath puffing out into clouds of smoke.

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t know who noticed him first, he just heard the mutters, the vague sounds of dissent that broke through the quiet, almost reverential atmosphere they’d created, people’s faces looking away from the lanterns they were setting up and eyes turning cold and hard. But he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, glancing around the trees and collapsing buildings that sat in the small clearing where the lake and trees lay, a quiet paradise on this bustling island.

Then Tio was at his side and his scowl was so out of place that Mizuki blinked in surprise, because he looked honestly murderous and he could feel the air bristling with indignation as if something horrible had just happened.

“He just can’t keep his shitty nose out of our business for one fucking day,” Tio swore sometimes, they all did, but never with so much vehemence, normally it was joking, laughing as Mizuki teased him and telling him to fuck off, or remarking that something was shit. Never normally with this much anger lacing every word, spitting them with such annoyance that Mizuki knew instantly who he was talking about, because who else was so hated?

“Oh fucking hell,” he muttered as he followed the eye line of his group, green locking with yellow, almost gold in the dim light and just sighing exasperatedly as the cause of their anger jumped down from the building on which he perched casually. He was already approaching as Mizuki turned to Tio, lowering his voice and trying to pretend he couldn’t feel his fingers twitching irritably. “Tell them to carry on, I’ll get rid of him.”

It looked like he wanted to object, but he just nodded once and headed back off to the main group as Mizuki walked a little way to greet Sly, noticing the confident swagger of his walk and the relaxed way he smoked his cigarette as he strolled over.

“Finally crawled back, huh?” He asked, voice colder than he’d expected and realising Tio wasn’t quite out of earshot as he turned to stare at them for a second, blue eyes narrowed because he’d been suspecting something for a while now.

“What can I say,” he smirked, taking a final drag of his cigarette and crushing it deliberately thoroughly under his heel before lighting another, packet crumpled and white tube bent out of shape. “You’re too much fun for me to stay away from.”

He snorted derisively at that, because whatever ‘fun’ Sly wanted wasn’t the kind Mizuki was thinking of, feeling slightly disturbed under his intense look, yellow eyes lingering over his face and body as if trying to remember what he looked like after so long away. Not to mention that if Sly didn’t consider a year a long time then he obviously had a completely different scale to Mizuki, who considered him to have completely abandoned his efforts to fuck him.

“I’m flattered,” but his voice was flat and blank, there was no teasing now, he was already not exactly having the best day, memory of Yasu’s death horribly fresh in all their minds and guilt heavy in his chest, without Sly turning up to cause shit. “So what do you want?”

Sly’s eyebrow raised as if Mizuki had no right to be so rude to him, eyes narrowing as he lingered in the shadows of the trees, face distorted and hidden from the bartenders eyes, only occasionally illuminated by the light of his cigarette. “Got bored.” He looked away from Mizuki, taking in the men behind him, still trying to set up for the ceremony while keeping a close eye on the talking pair, scowling and hating him more than ever. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Paying our respects,” he answered shortly, because he already knew about Yasu’s death, and while he didn’t know that the anniversary was today, surely he knew that this was important to them, hopefully he might get the message for once and just fuck off.

He took another drag of his cigarette, raising one eyebrow as if questioning the seriousness of Mizuki’s words, exhaling long into the air, trail of smoke disappearing into the air before it reached the bartender. “Oh,” he remarked shortly, not sounding at all bothered or apologetic, but then what had he expected? “Well I don’t have any of that, so…”

He’d lifted a shoulder as if apologising silently, but Mizuki knew he wasn’t remotely sorry, he’d probably come here deliberately to get a rise out of them, he knew exactly what they were here for and why, and he’d decided it would be a good laugh to try and annoy them. He might know the other, softer side of Sly, but he knew he was still a prick, through and through, proved by the arrogant expression on his face, as if he was better than everybody there.

“So fuck off,” he didn’t care that his tone was cruel, or that he and Sly had some kind of friendship once, he’d left that to rot when he’d disappeared for months on end with no sign or explanation for his absence.

“Don’t think I will, thanks,” his voice was biting, stony, and Mizuki knew that he was doing this on purpose, being obstinate to get him angry, because that was what he wanted, what he enjoyed. He didn’t piss people off because he was a shitty person, although he was that too, he did it deliberately because he liked being the centre of attention, even if it wasn’t the kind of attention any sane human would want. “Haven’t had any entertainment in a while.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He just stared at him for a second, as if trying to work out if he was really that stupid, exhaling a breathy laugh a second later and smirk softening remotely, “yours, if you’d just fucked me I wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, well I apologise then,” his voice was sarcastic but he could hear his resolve fading and cursed himself for letting Sly get under his skin again so easily, already feeling their usual banter filtering back into the conversation.

“Hm, I forgive you,” his smile said he knew the bartender had caught on to what he was doing, stepping forwards and into the light, no longer hidden by shadows and ignoring the growing mutters of Dry Juice as he approached their leader with such confidence. Cocky and arrogant enough to step into his person space, to smile seductively up at him and walk his fingers up his chest. “I’m sure you could make it up to me.”

“Don’t think I will, thanks,” he echoed his words back at him, slapping his hand away and glaring, too focused on the offending digits to take in the fact that his face was in full view now, bare and illuminated by the growing moonlight.

His breath caught in his throat, because for once his face was naked of bruises and grazes and damage, skin pale white and nearly shining, yellow eyes almost pretty even as they narrowed at him, watching him stare and raising a blue eyebrow into his hair which looked clean and well looked after for once. Fuck, he was actually more than a little beautiful and Mizuki wondered how he’d never noticed it before, blaming the flattering lighting and the fact that he’d never truly seen his face before, watching as his expression faltered uncomfortably.

Then he snapped out of it, surprised expression gone as if it had never existed and glaring because fuck he already knew he was done for as he stared at Sly’s soft pink lips a second longer than was acceptable. “Just fuck off, Sly. We’re busy.”

“Hm, this is what you call busy? No wonder you’re the most boring team on the island,” he’d raised his voice deliberately and Mizuki shot him a disbelieving eyebrow, because if he wanted the shit beaten out of him he was off to a good start, aware of Tio at his side seconds later and knowing the rest of them had headed over. He might have said he’d get rid of him, but he was a persistent little shit if nothing else, and he never made anything easy.

“Mizuki, tell me we can beat the shit out of him,” he didn’t recognise the voice that came from somewhere behind him, and if he didn’t know exactly why Sly was doing this, he’d probably beat him up himself.

Sly’s laugh was dark and the eyes of the entire team were on him, Mizuki’s warning, saying he wouldn’t stop his guys from doing whatever they wanted, but Sly just smirked at him cockily as he opened his mouth. “Oh please, as if you’d dare.”

His voice was condescending and the ripple of anger that spread through the assembled men didn’t bypass Mizuki this time, sick of his attitude and his fuck everything personality and the way he just somehow managed to be here, as if it was a coincidence.

Kiko was the first to step forwards, and his intimidating height of over six foot didn’t even vaguely bother Sly, who just eyed him calmly, as if disappointed this was the best they could do, “come on then, or are you scared you’ll lose?”

He’d always been quick to snap, either in turf wars or just in arguments, always the first to start a fight or throw something more than words, and Mizuki’s arm snapped out to stop him before he could register it.

“Leave him! He’s not worth it,” his voice was hard and he was suddenly aware that he was angry at Sly for more than  just crashing their ceremony, he was angry because he had wormed his way into his life, made him worry then fucked off for months only to reappear now, at the most inopportune time possible. He had made the bartender warm to him, to see him almost as a friend, and then he had left without so much as a reason, had faded from his life so much that he hadn’t even seen him in months. He didn’t even know where he was, and his expression was firm as he tried not to straight up glare at him for using him like that, because that was how he felt now, used. “We’re here for Yasu, remember?”

“Oh, that dead guy? Seems a bit pointless,” Sly remarked absently, picking at his nails as if he hadn’t just disrespected his memory in front of his friends, ducking the guy that swung for him easily and grinning like he was finally having fun.

He’d finally decided it was time to interfere in his life again, and of course he’d immediately turn back to the asshole persona that Mizuki knew was all a big lie to hide who he really was, already acting like a cunt and making his entire team bristle with indignation. His anger was real this time, not faked as it always had been before, because of all the times for him to show up this was the most terrible one, and what made it worse was that some part of him knew he’d done it on purpose. “Just fuck off Sly.”

“I remember when you used to be fun,” his statement might be innocent enough, spoken with boredom, as if this whole event was really very tiresome, as if he hadn’t deliberately crashed it, but Mizuki could see Tio’s eyes on him and everything he overheard just cemented his belief that they knew each other better than they let on.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tio asked, and all Mizuki could do was pray that Sly’s smirk didn’t mean he was about to reveal everything, to loudly announce that he’d been hanging around the bartender for a while, that he fed and clothed him and let him shower in his apartment. Knowing Sly he wouldn’t even have any qualms admitting that he’d sucked his dick once either, and he probably wouldn’t say that he’d gotten him drunk and stupidly high first, because he’d want to cause as much damage as possibly.

All he could do was answer before he got a chance, speaking just as Sly’s lips parted and his yellow eyes glimmered nastily. “He used to come drink at the bar sometimes, must have liked me,” he made it sound mocking, as if he was disgusted at the mere idea that somebody like Sly might like him and Sly’s lip twitched up at the side in the way he recognised all too well.

He just snorted, hiding the genuine emotion instantly, “you wish, Dry Juice.”

“Trust me, I really don’t. Now fuck off before I let my guys beat the shit out of you.” They both knew that was a lie, he’d never let them do that, he never had before and nothing had changed now, he knew deep inside his chest that he’d let Sly worm his way back in so easily it would be as if nothing had changed. Maybe he was just weak, or maybe he was too kind for his own good, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if he got Sly hurt, even if he might seem to deserve it, he knew he only acted like that to hide himself from the kind of pain he couldn’t stand, pain fists just couldn’t give.

“Whatever, you’re boring me anyway,” he shrugged, biting his lip teasingly as he began sauntering off, running a teasing finger across the leather of his jacket and smirk seductive. “See you around, Mi-zu-ki.” He just laughed again as the team growled as one, not appreciating the casual way he addressed their leader, as if he had any right to call him by his name and so seductively too, enunciating every syllable so it dripped off his tongue like honey, let alone his sheer bravery in actually touching him like that.

“He makes me feel a bit sick,” Tio murmured as the team’s anger persisted but began to bubble gently instead of boiling and hissing over like before, watching as the blue haired boy headed off, nimbly jumping and scrambling his way atop a small building, before disappearing into the maze of rooftops.

“Yeah, me too,” his voice was too soft as he finally turned his eyes away, catching one last glimpse of yellow, almost cat like eyes staring at him from the rooftop, getting one last look maybe, or mocking him from afar. Who knew how many times he might have done that before now, hidden far above on a building and watched him go about his life, it was almost unnerving to realise how easily he could have done that. Maybe that was how he’d known about today, he could easily have broken into the bar and listened into their group meetings, or just followed one of the members and gathered from their conversation what was going to happen. But maybe that was just wishful, or paranoid thinking, maybe Sly really had grown bored of him and that was why he’d fucked off for so long, maybe he’d just been strolling past and seen them and decided to cause trouble, maybe Mizuki had nothing to do with it.

He knew even as he turned back to his team, trying to calm them down and remind them that they were here for Yasu, and that they shouldn’t let an asshole like Sly ruin this, because this was important, it was important that they respect his memory, that Tio knew something. He kept sensing the blue eyes on him at different times, meeting his eye once or twice as he set up the lanterns and offering a smile that wasn’t returned, just earning a confused look that soon faded as something, someone else caught his attention and he had to turn away.

 

* * *

 

 

“Shin, you knew him best, do you want to start?” His voice was warm and comforting, taking in Shin’s wobbling bottom lip and the dampness of his eyes, not having let any tears fall yet but knowing they were only seconds away.

“Mm,” he nodded, trying to offer a smile but not managing it, just taking a deep breath and stepping forwards, away from the group so he was silhouetted against the lake, gentle orange light from the lanterns yet to be released bathing him in pastel tones.

Silence fell, and this time it was peaceful, everybody thinking of Yasu, remembering what had made him such an awesome person and a valued member of their group, trying to focus on his life instead of his death. All eyes were on Shin, sympathetic and loyal and loving as they always were, watching as he paused just before the jetty, feet firm on the icy grass and breath misting out in front of him.

Nobody spoke as he lifted the lantern in front of his face, already filled with hot air and wanting to be released into the sky, white almost entirely covered in tiny inked characters, black ink pristine and fingers firm on it now. The stillness was almost heavy as he held the lantern carefully, planting a kiss onto the side and whispering something into the paper that was hidden under a sudden breeze that rustled the trees and sent a chilling wind through them all. Then he let it go, and it floated up fast, a single point of soft orange light in the night sky, travelling up to meet the stars.

When he stepped back he was crying, not bothering to wipe his cheeks as he sank down onto the frosty ground, watching as the others slowly let their lanterns go too, joining the first in a beautiful dance in the skies, lightly buffeted by the breeze and lingering against the black. Comfort coming to him fast, others joining him on the ground, an arm round his shoulder, a hand on his knee, fingers tangling with his, never letting somebody be alone with their grief, more tears now, on other faces, falling silently.

It was warming, to see them stood or sat in their little huddles, such a strong group, nobody left to stand alone, Tio offering Mizuki the smallest of smiles as they released their grip on the lantern they held between them, the last ray of light rising heavenward. But there were no tears on Mizuki’s face, just a strange sense of peace amongst the emptiness, because after all it was right there, written neatly, ‘I tried.’

They stood there in silence, watching them travel off across the lake, reflections glimmering on the water where Yasu had so loved to walk, Tio’s form a strong pillar beside him, hearing his thick swallow and reaching across to join their hands easily. The squeeze back was weak and moisture glistened in his blue eyes, but Mizuki couldn’t tear his eyes away from his team, own chest beginning to hurt as he watched them band together through this, strong despite everything they’d been through.

He might be their leader, the one who was meant to be strong and powerful and always know the right thing to do, but he’d be nothing without them and he knew it more than ever now, together, united as a team, they were stronger than he could ever be alone, and somehow that hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

He couldn’t speak as the lanterns finally bobbed out of sight, to soar over the island or maybe even to reach the mainland, to travel far away from their sorrow with their messages of love and support and friendship that even death couldn’t taint. He watched as the team began to stand, stretching out cold limbs and looking a lot more collected than they had before, Shin managing a weak, wobbly smile even as his cheeks remained streaked with tears. He knew there was a wake of sorts planned for after this, to have drinks and reminisce after the more formal ceremony, but Mizuki’s soul was heavy and he didn’t think he wanted to be around his team when he wasn’t sure he was what was best for them anymore.

The walk out of the forested area was far more pleasant than the journey in, still sticking close together to offer support to those this was hardest for, managing half smiles and weak laughs as they emerged back onto the brightly lit streets again. There were still lanterns in the sky here, the occasional orange dot gleaming vividly above the ugly streets on which they parted, last hugs and pats on the back offered, words of support and comradery shared.

Then they were all but gone, Shin accompanied home by Kouhaku and Yuu with the promise that they’d look after him, Mizuki trusting their words inherently and trying to think of something to say even as they walked away, understanding his silence. Leaving him and Tio in the air that had dropped below freezing hours ago, finally able to heave out the sigh he’d been holding in for hours, knowing Tio would sympathise.

“You okay?”

“Mm, I just want to go home now, I feel like I could sleep forever,” he tried to laugh but it came out too breathy and the cold hurt his throat as it caught there messily, breaking into pieces and dying.

“I know what you mean,” his smile was genuine, always good at bouncing back in hardship and staying positive through so much, things that would topple other people. “It went great, Mizuki, he would have liked it.”

“Yeah,” his answer was short but Tio didn’t push, just watching him pull up his hood with finality and light up a cigarette, flame reminiscent of the ones that had since disappeared from above them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait for his reply, knowing he’d linger to watch him disappear like he always did, worrying about him even if he wouldn’t admit it, those blue eyes boring into his back and making him feel strangely ashamed. The walk back to the bar seemed to take forever now he was alone, the streets abandoned and nobody around apart from the odd cat who ran in his presence, the guilt was still heavy in his chest. He didn’t feel worthy to be the brave leader they all looked up to and respected, he was just a human, he was nothing special, he couldn’t protect them, couldn’t keep them safe. He made mistakes too, but sometimes he felt like they didn’t realise that, he was flawed and foolish and stupid, and he knew that wasn’t good enough. Keeping up appearances was hard, and right now he wasn’t sure he cared what anyone thought, lighting another cigarette and wishing he could just quit this whole thing, then it wouldn’t matter if he fucked up, at least nobody would get hurt except him.

His thoughts were too heavy and he scoffed at himself even as he unlocked his door, cigarette already thrown onto the floor outside and stamped out, he was thinking like an angsty teenager and he didn’t much like it. Locking the door behind him and turning to hang up his coat and scarf, glad he’d left the heating on as his fingers began to defrost already, losing their unnerving blue tone, sighing again, but this time tiredly.

“Setting off lanterns for a dead person seems a bit useless.”

“Fucking hell Sly,” his shock at the sudden voice wore off remarkably fast, spinning around with an incredulous stare because this had happened so many times now he was barely even surprised, just waiting for his heart to stop its panicked beating as he pulled off his boots. “You really know how to time shit, huh?”

He didn’t respond, just shrugged almost smugly and hopped off the dining table where he’d been perched, smoke billowing around his head as usual and face for once not quite so beaten up, pale skin almost completely undamaged. “It’s a skill of mine.”

“Huh, one of few,” he muttered, but he knew the other had heard him by the soft scoff that escaped his lips as he moved to sit on the sofa instead, kicking off his shoes as if he belonged there, had been invited instead of presumably broken in. “Where’ve you been?”

The yellow eyes that darted up to his weren’t clouded with anything for once, no drugs obscured his vision or made his thoughts damp and distant, they were crystal clear and almost as electric as his hair. His mouth twitched into a less than friendly smile, almost suspicious and it had been a long time since he’d seen that look focused on him, even before he disappeared, “miss me, did you?”

“Something like that,” it was an answer Sly himself would give and he wasn’t sure he appreciated the puff of air that left his uninvited guest as he turned his face away, laughing under his breath and shrugging his way out of his jacket, clearly too comfortable on his couch, in his apartment, back in his life again after so long. “So what happened?”

“Nothing, maybe I just got sick of trying to get into your pants,” the stare that fixed him wasn’t truthful and Mizuki knew already that he was lying. He had run away, fled after he’d started to show vulnerability, after he’d sought him out for comfort and been all too reassured by his presence, by the warm body next to his, it had scared him and he’d run. Mizuki didn’t need him to say it to know that was the truth, the only truth.

“Oh? So this is attempt number two is it?” He asked, even though by now it was more like attempt fifty, how Sly could continue pestering after being knocked back so many times, Mizuki didn’t know, maybe he thought that now he’d at least managed to suck him off his chances were higher.

“Something like that,” and now Mizuki laughed, because fuck he was so screwed up it was impossible to have a normal conversation with him, subdued mood of the day suddenly wiped away in his presence and any lingering sadness from the memorial ceremony in the back of his mind. “It’s been a year, huh?”

His expression grew tense because he wasn’t in the mood for Sly saying anything more about Yasu’s death or his ceremony, he was only glad he didn’t know his name, he had the feeling if it spilled out of those lips he might do something he’d regret like punch him in the face. Though now he thought about it, there was a large chance he wouldn’t regret it one bit, and his team would surely thank him for it, already resentful that they hadn’t been allowed to fuck him up that day or several times before.

“Yeah,” his voice was cold, but never as cold as Sly’s could be, to the point and final, trying to tell him without saying that he wasn’t in the mood for his shit right now, he’d spent the whole day overcome with guilt and sadness and an argument was not what he needed.

Sly just nodded slowly, sniffing and wiping his nose with the sleeve of a shirt Mizuki didn’t recognise, wondering if maybe he’d been able to steal some new clothes since he last saw him, figuring the ones he gave him must be in a terrible state by now. “How’s it healing?”

Oh, of course he meant that, he’d already given his opinion on Yasu today, calling bullshit on their thoughtful lantern ceremony and pissing off the entire team, and his thoughts at the time had differed from them now, a year later, so much they were almost unrecognisable as having come from the same person. He actually laughed when he realised what he meant, because he always had been a smooth talking asshole who was just determined to see him naked as much as possible, thinking to himself that he had almost missed this back and forth banter.

“Hm, quite well actually,” he remarked casually, yanking up his shirt as if to merely look himself but well aware of the hungry yellow eyes that only lingered on the impressive scar a second before taking in as much of his exposed stomach and chest as he could. Mizuki watched as his gaze travelled from his bellybutton down the strip of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his boxers, almost amused at how little Sly tried to keep his desire hidden, nibbling at his lip absently.

“And here I thought it might spoil you,” he smiled, not even pretending he hadn’t just been ogling him as he shifted on the sofa, making room for when Mizuki joined him, eyes flitting over every inch of him as if trying to remind himself what he looked like after so long away. “Though it’d take a lot more than a stab wound to do that.”

“You flatter me,” he smiled, but he wasn’t sure why the atmosphere was so different, crackling with something more than their usual banter, something flirtier in Sly’s movements, his smirks and the way his eyes rested on him made him feel hot under the collar. He was angry, and tired and sad and ridden with horrible guilt, and he wanted to blow off steam, but God he knew if he continued this, let himself be human and make mistakes, make this mistake, he’d probably regret it. Not sure he cared as he headed into the kitchen, “want a beer?”

“You got something stronger?”

He smiled at that, genuine and unsurprised, because of course Sly wouldn’t be happy with a casual drink, for him it was all or nothing, that was clear in his approach to getting into his pants, unless he got his fuck he didn’t care much about anything else. But still he stood, knowing those eyes would be following him, glowing in the dim lights and sending a prickle up his back he wasn’t sure if he liked yet. The vodka was easy enough to find, yet untouched where it sat atop his cabinet, frankly surprised Sly hadn’t helped himself to it yet, grabbing glasses and coke even though he knew the other would happily drink it straight. Getting drunk wasn’t exactly the best idea, he knew that, but after today he felt like all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, and since he obviously couldn’t do that without Sly trying to follow him, getting wasted was the next best thing he could do.

This time Mizuki poured the glasses, those yellow eyes on them were making his hands tremble just slightly and he knew he was pouring more than he normally would, than he should, but he didn’t care because Sly’s noise of approval made it worth it. He wasn’t even sure when he’d started seeking his approval, but some part of him didn’t like having anybody cocky enough to talk down to him, especially since he was used to the exact opposite. He never thought he’d been the proud type, or the sort of person to try and impress, but somehow when it came to Sly he pushed his buttons in just the right way to make him turn into somebody different.

“So why’d you come back?” He was trying to keep the conversation light, but he knew Sly wouldn’t take kindly to any more questions about his long disappearance or his sudden arrival in his life, his apartment.

He took his offered drink with a nod, the nearest to a thanks Mizuki would expect from him, drinking a large mouthful and frowning as if it wasn’t quite strong enough, regarding him curiously. “Haven’t gotten laid in a while, thought I’d take my chances.”

Bullshit. It was all bullshit, every word that had left his mouth since he’d arrived was complete crap, no truth ever seemed to come from him, whether he’d gotten laid or not had never stopped him pestering him before. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh I’m sure you wouldn’t,” and again that flirtatious, almost dirty smile that had never affected him before had suddenly gone to his head, making his throat thick and something in his head twist his mouth into an amused smirk because shit something here was different and he liked it.

“You really never give up, do you?”

His smile was doing strange things to his stomach and for the first time ever Sly registered that he was flirting back, heart doing some kind of flip in his chest and blood running hot as he just took another drink, licking his lips with deliberate slowness. “I have a habit of getting what I want.”

“And what’s that?” He knew what the answer would be before he even asked, but somehow he wanted to hear it come out of those damp, pink lips that were so distracting.

“Oh I think you already know what I want,” he’d moved closer, body turned close into his, eyes not leaving his because damn he was good at eye contact when he needed to be and those yellow eyes were drawing him in like he’d been hypnotized.

“Humour me,” because fuck it, if he was going to do this, and damn the part of him screaming no was barely a whisper now, he’d make sure he had his fun too, and god when Sly said dirty things in that voice of his he felt like he was melting.

He exhaled through his nose, clearly amused, stretching out to place his drink deliberately on the table, Mizuki’s eyes following the curve of his spine, fingers twitching on his own cold glass with nervous anticipation because ah fuck this was a terrible idea but he’d always found those were the best ones to follow through with. He didn’t even comment as Sly shifted back, movements confident and that was most of his appeal, he knew what he wanted, he wanted this and he wasn’t afraid to get it and that was so different to most people it made Mizuki’s worries all but fall away.

His shoulders were broad under Sly’s hands, mounting his lap with ease, legs sliding down on either side of the bartenders with deliberately graceful movements. Making sure to flip his hair off his neck and deliberately biting his lip as he sunk down onto his legs, fingers soft on the skin of his hairline as they wound around his tanned neck. It was a move that looked well practiced but he’d truthfully never done before, certain it had worked as Mizuki’s eyes trailed his movements and his stare was damned enticing as it watched his lithe waist sway as he seated himself comfortably.

“Obvious enough for you?” He asked, and his voice was as seductive as it was teasing, personality unchanged but swamped by this last ditch attempt to work his way into his bed because this was the closest he’d come yet and he could somehow tell that tonight he would finally get what he wanted.

“Just about,” he whispered, because shit the visual of Sly on his lap, expression so alluring and more than a little captivating was more than enough to wipe away any more issues with this he might have. But then…

“You realise this is a bad idea?” He asked, though he didn’t even believe himself as he spoke, words more enticing than scolding as he ditched his own drink because fuck it, he could always lie to himself and say it went straight to his head if he felt too guilty afterwards. He somehow didn’t even care that his excuse of last time, being drunk and high, couldn’t be applied now, because he wasn’t drunk but neither was Sly and he was just giving into pressure, it wasn’t like he’d wanted this from the start. “Like really bad,” but his hands were already on his slim waist and he could feel his warmth through his shoulders, those yellow eyes so keen and pupils dilated so deliciously, his smirk so close he could kiss it away if he wanted to and damn he really did.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” That was so provocative, the alcohol buzzing through his veins was making him unbearably warm and his mouth felt dry, because he was right, what was the worst that could happen? Even if Sly told his team he’d just deny it, say he was lying to try and get him into shit, they’d believe him over Sly for definite, no question about it.

What was so different about today? Was he particularly vulnerable to his charms because he was back to grieving again? Did he just want some distraction from the guilt that thrummed through his bloodstream, or had this always been coming? Was the reminder of death telling him to live while he could, to take full advantage of the offer in front of him? To enjoy himself while he could and fuck the consequences because he could die at any moment? Or was there just something in the soft lighting hitting Sly’s face that made the glow of those intense eyes so alluring, the almost pretty way his face looked now it wasn’t bruised or marred, because damn how had he never noticed how unfairly  _pretty_  he was until now?, tricking him into thinking this was okay.

“I could be terrible,” that was a lie, he knew his own sexual prowess well enough to know that he was rarely, if ever, a disappointment, and that even if he was somehow terrible, Sly would manage to get his fun anyway, he seemed the type to have no issues taking control.

“I highly doubt that,” and now he was telling the truth, tilting his head to the side to observe him better, taking in the almost nervous movements of his hands where they rested on his slim hips. “So you gunna fuck me or not?”

His lips twitched and Sly caught the exact moment he pushed his concerns aside, something in his eyes firmer than it had been before and making his heart pound in his chest because damn he looked almost starved and he absently wondered when the last time was he got any action. “I suppose I could.”

He laughed at that, and it was almost cute, tongue between his teeth playfully and eyes smiling almost innocently, then it was gone and his eyes were lidded as he leaned in, moving fluidly and back curving against Mizuki’s hand. “Finally.”

It was like he knew he was still nervous, easing him into it and kissing slower than the bartender expected, letting him relax against his body and remind himself that this was fine, it was a one-time thing and damn it had been a long time since he so much as kissed somebody. He was warm and pliant under his hands and it didn’t take long for him to assert his control, fingers growing firmer and kisses harder as his tongue pushed past the pliant line of his lips and he made a soft noise that went straight to Mizuki’s head. Calloused hands pushed up into his shirt to touch warm, soft skin and trace lines into his back with his nails, enjoying the whimper when he scraped down hard and the body atop him arched into his, gasping against his mouth.

Then something in both of them snapped and hands were grabbing and tugging at clothing and Sly wormed him out of his t-shirt, fingers firm on hardened muscle and only separating to yank his own shirt off, blue hair falling against his pale shoulders like a waterfall. Scarred and flawed and with the huge slash mark across his stomach red and shiny against his flesh, arch of his neck irresistible to the bartender as he moved to mark the perfect skin. Biting down harder just to hear his moans grow louder, needier, only stopping when he drew blood and Sly whimpered, taste hot and metallic against his tongue. He slid his own pants off in what seemed like seconds and his lips were hot on his chest as he worked his way down to the buckle of the bartenders jeans, flicking them open easily and barely giving him time to kick his jeans and boxers onto the floor before he had his mouth over the heated flesh.

“Ah shit, Sly…” Mizuki gasped because oh  _fuck_  he was good at this, taking him in so completely his nose grazed the dark patch of hairs at the base, moaning as his tongue darted out to lick at the sensitive head and his hand worked at what he couldn’t focus on right now.

The skilled bluenette just managed a grin as he continued to work him with skilled bobs of his head and flicks of his wrist, moans pouring from the bartender’s mouth almost as frequently as breathing.

“S-stop,” he managed to pant after only a few minutes, breath already gone, using the hand in the blue hair to push his head away and breaking the strand of saliva that connected him to his dick, not sure if that was disgusting or utterly arousing, but the rapid beating of his heart telling him it was definitely the latter.

“Stop?” Sly asked, not sure if Mizuki had changed his mind again, which would be troublesome for the both of them, or if there was some other reason, licking pre-come off his lips and savouring the unique taste of it for the second time. “No good?”

The smugness in Sly’s voice let the both of them know he had every confidence in his skills in this area, Mizuki chuckling breathily and uttering a weak, rather reluctant, “very good.” His hand began rooting around in the coffee table drawer beside them and Sly’s face lit up in anticipation, he hadn’t changed his mind after all, and Sly would be getting the fuck he’d waited so fucking long for. “Just- hang on a minute.”

Sly rolled his eyes and merely watched Mizuki’s expression slowly lose its lustiness as he continued his search, eyes gleaming a minute later as he returned his hand with a small bottle of lube clenched within it. “Bingo.”

Sly was getting bored of waiting now, gripping burgundy hair with painful force and pulling Mizuki down so their faces were centimetres apart. “Mizuki, hurry up and fuck me.”

There was an instant rush to comply, blue boxers landing beside the pile of scattered clothes on the floor, t-shirts having been lost somewhere under the coffee table, bartender adjusting them so he was hovering over Sly possessively, trapping him in a cage of arms.

Part of him was still regretting this, thinking what a bad idea it was even as his body disagreed because fuck it had been so long and jerking off only satisfied him so much. Sly's body was so soft, so hot and pliant under his fingers and he didn't waste any time in taking charge as Mizuki had expected, taking the bottle of lube and slicking up his fingers for him, raising his hips off the couch. His fingers now suitably coated with the gloopy liquid he swallowed hard because shit there was no turning back now but he wasn’t sure he cared, fingers leaving a snail like trail up his impossibly soft inner thighs before one digit pushed in, Sly barely responding, he’d had much more up there before after all. A second finger came a second later, twisting and scissoring carefully, Mizuki still afraid of hurting him even though he had the feeling he liked it a hell of a lot rougher than most people might. Not noticing that Sly was beginning to get sick of waiting until he pulled the surprised man’s tanned fingers away, raising a challenging eyebrow as he lay there, entirely naked and with his dick leaking onto his flat stomach. The view was remarkably appealing to Mizuki, the uncaring way he lay there, like he had no embarrassment about his nakedness at all was completely different to his past partners, Sly had wanted this so fucking long and he refused to wait any longer. The dark marks he had made on the pale neck were coated with a crust of dried blood and the possession they spoke of, his ownership of Sly, for one night at least, removed any need to be careful he might have had, making his hand confident as he finally reached for his dick.

“Ah!” his noise was more a startled inhale than a moan but God it was music to Mizuki’s ears and his body jerked into his touch in such an uncontrolled way it was like seeing him come undone, gasping against his neck as hot lips trailed up to nibble the sensitive skin of his earlobe. “Mizuki…”

His voice was cracked and desperate in a way he had never heard before and fuck that this was wrong, that he was only sixteen, or was it seventeen now? Fuck his reputation and his teasing and his constant ability to piss everyone around him off, fuck his pretty yellow eyes and his white thighs that he parted more than willingly, holding his breath as Mizuki’s dick nudged his hole. Fuck him for disappearing and for making him worry and for being so god damn seductive and-

But then he slid in smoothly and all thoughts left his head because oh shit he’d forgotten how damn good this felt, being surrounded by this hot pressure, dropping his head down onto his chest and breathing heavily. Nails scrabbling at his back loosely as Sly whined because he hadn’t stretched him enough and they both knew that but his fingers were firm on his shoulders, pressing hard into his back and Mizuki knew he liked it, sadistic fucker that he was.  
He almost wanted to laugh, hormones rushing to his head and apparently making him lose all sense because he was about to fuck Sly Blue on his couch and he wasn't sure he felt too bad about it anymore. But of course he wouldn’t give either of them time to adjust, almost hissing into his ear, “what are you waiting for?”

He always rose to a challenge, even more so when it was Sly, warm up completely unnecessary now with sweat already beading on his forehead and his heart beating a thousand miles an hour as he let himself lose control. The noise that left Sly was almost a laugh and it was all Mizuki could do to not laugh too because this was insane, he was having sex with Sly Blue when he’d been refusing for months, all his morals blown away with a few choice words and the sight of those stupid fucking half lidded yellow eyes. They were locked on him even now, pupils blown wide and fluttering shut as he fucked into him, head sliding across the sofa as he eased himself back into it, feeling almost clumsy because it had been a really long time since he’d done this.

“You can do better than that,” his voice was challenging but he was panting and every other noise that left his lips was a moan so Mizuki figured he wasn’t doing too badly, laughing breathily anyway because only Sly would be this demanding. Re-angling his hips and pulling out completely only to shove back in hard and this time he moaned properly, nails sharp against his muscled shoulders, digging into the tanned skin and pulling him closer, burying his face in the tattooed neck. Moans and whimpers spilling directly into his ear and oh shit why had he waited so long to do this? He was just so real, so present and there and utterly honest, every noise he made sounded like it was ripped from his throat involuntarily, nothing was faked, not his fingers running over his back like he was trying to touch every inch of him, not the way he began fucking himself down onto him, to drive him even deeper. This was completely real and raw and hungry and Mizuki fucking loved it, there was no hiding here, no nervousness or expectations or feelings, just the sensation of his skin on his fingers and the taste of sweat on his lips.

But this wasn’t enough, placing his hands in the undersides of Sly’s knees and shoving his legs further apart, bending him almost double easily and forcing him to take his hands off his shoulders, missing the contact only a little as he slid in deeper with every thrust. God he didn’t know where to look, at the way his dick thrusted into his tight hole so easily, or at his face, which was wide open and twisted with pleasure, lips parted and eyes either squeezed shut or so strangely vulnerable it only made him more aroused because shit he felt so dominating.

His arms were up by his head, letting the bartender take control, for once not trying to be the one in charge, just letting him fuck into him and whimpering every time he deliberately slowed his thrusts down, making sure he could feel every inch of him sliding in before pulling out and slamming back in so hard he cried out. It was all swearing and whining and biting at his lip as his hips were pulled on and off his dick over and over, hands so hard on his flesh he knew he’d bruise but these he didn’t mind, ones caused by passion not anger, a reminder that he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted.

“Mizuki harder fuck-“ So dirty and needy and desperate as he put his own hands under his legs, holding them up so every single inch of his dick could slam in with every thrust, whining because it felt amazing but he just wasn’t hitting the right spot where he needed him to, where he’d scream and oh fuck it’d feel so amazing.

But then he pulled out and Sly barely had time to be annoyed, disorientated and sudden loss of pleasure making his head spin, ribs heaving as he tried to catch his breath, “wha-?”

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice short of breath and that was so delicious the words didn’t register for a second, suddenly making sense and making him grin, trying to smirk but failing because Mizuki had fucked the ability to do anything but comply out of him. He wasn’t ashamed to follow his orders, accepting for once the hands that helped him to turn on the couch, damp with sweat and more than a little gross, manoeuvring himself onto his knees and trying to ignore his legs shaking.

He wasn’t sure what had happened, but the switch in him with the neat label ‘morals’ had been switched off and he didn’t care anymore that this was a one-time thing, that he might feel grubby and guilty afterwards, it just felt so good to let go, to finally let himself give in and not care about anything other than the very willing body stretched out in front of him. He’d always found it a little strange, fucking somebody he didn’t have some kind of feelings for, sure he’d had one night stands before and they’d been good but something about them had always made him uncomfortable, like it was wrong somehow. Even with Tio it had been strange, the sex had been awesome, but everything else had been odd, they hadn’t been able to act the same way they always did and he didn’t like it. But with Sly he knew they’d go back to exactly the way they had been, probably immediately afterwards, back to their bantering and flirty teasing and their lying to each other.

The knowledge that he could have him like this, slim back spread out in front of him, svelte waist warm under his fingers and ribs visible where he breathed, head lowered down where he didn’t quite have the strength to raise it, was so enticing he took a moment to just stare. He ran a tanned hand down his spine, noticing him arching his back into the touch just slightly, hair sliding off his neck to show gradually bruising bite marks on his neck and the faintest crusting of blood where he’d bitten down so hard, too hard in his opinion.

“Hurry up already,” but of course the moment couldn’t last long, strength regathered and that familiar voice just making him chuckle, coming out darker and lustier than he expected, registering the shiver that travelled through Sly’s waiting body. He slid in slowly again, savouring the second when the head of his dick passed his muscled walls and became engulfed in heat, Sly’s soft noise barely heard over his harsh breathing as he started up again. His fingers were firm on his hips and he could see the soft flesh oozing out from between the tanned skin, holding him in place so he could pull him onto his dick even as he fucked into him hard and fast.

It took Sly a moment to work out the rhythm but when he did he began moving his hips back to meet the bartenders, driving him farther in and he had to muffle a cry into the arm of the sofa, head dropping down and elbows faltering as he finally found his prostate. Every thrust hit against it and it was all he could do to keep the rhythm, too busy trying to keep his composure because he could hear Mizuki grunting and his head was fuzzy with pleasure and his legs had started to shake.

“Fuck- I-“ He tried to speak but the words choked off because a hand had slid round his body to wrap around his dick and it must have been dripping onto the sofa because his hand moved along it so fluidly that wet noises filled his ears. “Mizuki- oh  _shit_ -“

His name sounded so good in that voice, desperate and needy, begging him even as he gripped his hip harder, timing his thrusts with the movements of his hand on Sly’s dick, thumbing at the head at the same time he slammed in deep and the coil of pleasure in his stomach was wound so tight he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

Sly’s breath hitched and his whole body froze, stopping breathing for a split second before a cry almost like a scream left him and warmth covered Mizuki’s hand, ass clenching around him as his movements grew sloppy, burying his face into his shoulder and barely registering that Sly was still moving his hips backwards. Orgasm crashed over him and he moaned into Sly’s shoulder, lips against his skin and gasping as Sly’s movements milked him until there was nothing left to give and he had to pull out, swallowing thickly as he watched his cum trickle out of his ass and down his thighs.

“Holy shit,” he panted, managing an exhausted laugh as he flopped back onto the sofa, fully satiated in a way he hadn’t been in months, utterly satisfied and watching Sly grimace as he reached behind himself, fingers coming away cum-streaked. Offering him the tissue box silently and taking in his expression, guard lowered and relaxed, just taking them and wiping himself clean as well he could before his knees started trembling too much and he ungracefully sank down onto the ruined fabric, careful to avoid his cum where it began to sink into the couch.

He knew Sly wasn’t exactly the cuddling type, wondering absently if he was going to get up and leave immediately or whether he’d stay a bit longer and he could test his theory that nothing would change, just offering him an amused smile as he yanked his boxers back on. "Happy now?"  
There was a pause before he shrugged, because he’d sure as hell enjoyed himself if his moans were anything to go by, but his response didn’t reflect that, "not really."  
"Well my apologies, did I not live up to your high standards?" He wasn’t sure if he was offended or not, he had a feeling Sly’s apparent unhappiness might be down to something not related to the act they’d just finished, the evidence of which was clear in the throbbing of his back, wondering if he’d left marks again and deciding he didn’t care.  
"It was okay,” that was a lie and they both knew it, it was great, more than great, but his smirk belayed that to Mizuki, he was only lying to make a point. “I'm sure you'll do better next time."  
"Next time?" He didn’t even know why he was asking, because of course, of course Sly wouldn’t be happy now he’d gotten what he wanted, no, he’d opened the floodgates and now he was apparently in another fuckbuddy scenario, just hopefully this one would end as well as the last.  
"You didn't think I'd be satisfied after just that, did you?"  
He didn't reply, but it was remarkably obvious that yes, that had been what he thought.  
"Hm, take it as a compliment, it's not every day I get fucked that good." He was standing already, pulling on his clothes over sweat-damp skin, speckled with red marks from Mizuki’s fingers and teeth, ignoring the fact that there was still cum on his stomach.  
He honestly wasn't sure whether to be proud of his apparent sexual skill, or alarmed that Sly seemed to think this was going to happen again, but he supposed if they could be the same as always, if their sort-of-friendship could continue, and he could get sex on top, it might not be so bad.  
"It's the perfect arrangement, you get to stop being a goody two shoes and actually get some action, and me? Well..." His eyes ran over Mizuki's body appreciatively, licking his lips distractedly. "It's obvious what I get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting and leaving kudos, I hope you all enjoyed this story and thanks for sticking with me through it :)  
> I have a sequel planned, so keep an eye out for that, it should be up after Christmas at the latest!  
> Find me here- minky-way.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here at- minky-way.tumblr.com  
> 


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